


The Hybrid

by brilliantboffins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Angst, Blowjobs, Catlock, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, John's a saint, Johnlock Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sexual Violence, Violence, bottomcatlock, bottomjohn, bottomlock, pet Sherlock, switchlock, topJohn, topcatlock, toplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 148,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantboffins/pseuds/brilliantboffins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Invalided home from Afghanistan, John ends up buying a cat hybrid.  As both owner and pet navigate the waters of their new relationship, they learn things about themselves and each other. (NOTE: This is a Catlock story with John and Sherlock as the main pair. It does not strictly follow the show's timeline, although it borrows bits and pieces.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hybrid

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood for some cat!lock where John comes to own Sherlock who was abused by previous owners, but found surprisingly few. So off I went to write my own, and here's the result. 
> 
> Lots and lots of hurt/comfort and fluff, that was the main reason for writing this. Also a dash of angst to spur more hurt/comfort and fluff. Eventual smut between our Sherlock kitty and his owner. 
> 
> I didn't worry too much about keeping them in character, John's definitely a lot more touchy-feely and forthcoming with his emotions here than in the actual show, but considering Sherlock's trying to get past abuse a non-communicative John would have just made things far too difficult.
> 
> I have no outline for this story, no long term plot mapped out, so it's just whatever I feel like. If you have any ideas, situations you want to see the boys in, feel free to let me know and I'll see if I can work it in!
> 
> So, if you're in the mood for (mostly) fluff and cat ears/tail, then enjoy~!
> 
> Note: Everything's non-beta'd. If you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out and I'll fix them ^-^

 

John sighed as he wandered between the rows and rows of cages, ignoring the mindless babble of the people around him. This was not how he had imagined he would be spending his birthday this year, nor any year for that matter. In fact, John had gone out of his way to avoid this place, or places like this, his whole life. Yet here he was.

The man walking beside him gave him a nudge, talking loudly into his ear to be heard over the voices of others.

"Buck up, John! This is the biggest hybrid market in the UK, surely you'll find something here you like."

John gave him a halfhearted smile as his eyes swept over the scene before him.

They were inside a large warehouse where thousands of people mingled about. It looked like a convention, except instead of sellers showing goods in booths and stalls, there were cages of all shapes and sizes. Inside them were what appeared to be humans...or what would be humans except they all contained certain animal characteristics.

Some had wings on their back making them appear like angels one might see in fairy tale books, others were adorned with antlers and a short tail, like the deer in the forests, John even saw a few in large fish tanks, sporting tails that made them appear like mythical mermaids.

The success of introducing animal genes into human DNA had spurred an era of mass experimentation before laws caught up to practice. People mixed DNA between animals and humans like one might mix and match clothes, curious to see the results. Initially the results often ended up grotesque, disfigured, and died quickly from organ failure, but as technology for the practice improved more and more of the experiments survived to full adulthood.

People started selling these hybrids, as they became known, as exotic pets and soon everyone was storming the markets in demand for one. Some were priced in the millions, custom designed for the owners who could hand pick what characteristics they wanted. Others were sold for the same price as a common house cat. Some were given all the functions a human being would have, others were created with certain abilities disabled, unable to feel pain, blind, deaf, some were rendered unable to walk upright, only capable of crawling on their hands and knees. By now nothing surprised John anymore.

The short haired man had never been interested in obtaining one for himself. As a military doctor John had neither the time nor finances for such an investment, but upon being invalided back from the war his days had become tediously free. Concerned for his friend, Mike Stamford had dragged John out to the hybrid market place on his birthday, suggesting that maybe, just maybe they'll be able to find a companion for him. A hybrid that can talk and listen to him, more useful than an animal pet. John had tried digging his heels in but it's hard to say no to Mike who was so easy going and, if John were forced to admit it, one of the few people he actually didn't mind the company of. Besides, it's not like he has to buy anything, just look.

So here they were, checking out the merchandise and yet John couldn't help grimacing at the sight. Despite the various animal-like traits, these hybrids looked distinctly human, and in some of their eyes John could read fear, pain and despair to match some of the leering, hungry looks sported by some of the patrons.

Mike tugged him along, looking through the pamphlet that introduced each of the sellers, stopping now and then to look over a hybrid that caught his eye. John did his best to keep engaged, but the endless chatter was starting to give him a headache and he started wishing he was back at his flat where there was nothing but silence all around.

A sharp cry broke through John's thoughts as he quickly turned towards the sound. His eyes locked on the source, a hybrid that had been brought out from his cage to be shown to a potential buyer a few stalls away. Even from here John could here the hissing followed by a sharp reprimand and he took a few steps closer, curious as to what the commotion's about.

The hybrid in question had cat ears and a long tail to complement them. His torso was bare and he wore only a pair of dark trousers, not even any shoes. He was leashed by a chain that looped around his neck, the other end being held in the hands of his seller. He looked pale, lean, and John judged he was fairly tall even though at the moment he was on his hands and knees. His hair was a mess of dark curls, contrasting sharply with his skin and along his naked back John could see the faint lines that marked scars, probably being covered up by makeup. Unlike the other merchandise who appeared no older than twenty years old, this one seemed a bit older, and more subdued. He stayed where he was, unmoving, head lowered as he was inspected.

John felt a presence beside him and glanced over, finding Mike there. The man looked at the pamphlet to see who this seller was and pointed it out to John.

"Let's see, it says here that this seller sells second hand hybrids, previously owned."

Ah, that explains the age and scars then. John looked back at the scene before him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable when the potential buyer, a man probably in his forties, tall with short brown hair and a sarcastic smirk, placed a hand under the hybrid's chin and tiled his head up, pulling back his lips to check his teeth. The man ran a hand over the hybrid's side and John noticed him jerk a bit when his ribs were touched. Bruised? Without warning, the man grabbed the base of the slender tail and lifted it, tugging on it and chuckling along with the seller as the hybrid mewled in protest, lowering his head.

John felt his blood start to boil. These men were toying with the hybrid, reveling in his discomfort.

"Hm, I don't know. It seems pretty used up, no fight left in it at all," the brown haired man mused, standing up to talk to the seller.

"Oh but I assure you, sir, it will serve your purposes well, and it's very cheap too."

John's eyes narrowed, wondering what those "purposes" were.

"Well, it is quite beautiful, I'll admit to that. And you say it's experienced?"

The seller nodded eagerly.

"Yes sir! Its previous owner had it professionally trained for the bedroom, it can satisfy whatever needs you have. You said you needed a few extra hybrids for a night party? This one is perfect for such a situation, I guarantee it."

The soft whimper that fell from the hybrid's lips didn't escape John as he felt a coil of disgust clench in his stomach.

"I still think your asking price is too high. It's much older than the average hybrid being sold here. How about 200 pounds?"

The seller looked affronted at the offer.

"Sir! Please! It's worth more than that! I'm afraid I can't go lower than 400."

"250 then, I'll pay cash."

"350, and I'll throw in the cage."

"300, I'm afraid that's all I can spend on it."

Just before the seller could reply, John stepped into their line of sight, catching their attention.

"500 pounds. And you can keep your cage."

The doctor could feel the eyes of the people that had gathered around to watch all fall on him, some in astonishment, others in confusion. Behind him, he heard a startled gasp from Mike, who took a moment to comprehend what was happening before he hurried to step up to John's side. Discretely, he gave the sleeve of John's jacket a tug, silently asking him what the hell he was doing, but John ignored him.

The hybrid's ears flicked at the sound of John's voice, his head turning just a bit so he can see the man in his peripheral vision.

Clearing his throat, John stepped up next to the two men who were negotiating, keeping his eyes on the seller. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping to his credit card and holding it out.

"500 pounds," he repeated as the seller glanced nervously between John and the other man. Clearly he was tempted to accept John's offer but feared offending the other customer.

"Hey! You can't do that! I saw it first!" The brown haired man barked in anger, giving John a shove.

The doctor stood his ground, widening his stance as he frowned at the man.

"If you want HIM, top my offer," John emphasized the 'him', feeling angry at the insistence of these people to refer to these creatures as things.

The man sputtered and glared down at the hybrid. For a few tense moments nobody moved or made a sound before finally, the irritated man huffed and turned on his heels.

"Fine, whatever. Waste your money on that hybrid, it's completely not worth it."

John ignored him as the man disappeared into the crowd, turning back to the relieved seller who happily accepted his card.

"Good sir, you won't be disappointed with your choice I assure you! It's been health checked and vaccinated against all the common diseases, here are all of its documents, dental check, health records, birth certificate and certificate of ownership. I will go run your card through, please wait here," the seller rambled as he shoved a thick stack of papers into John's hands, handing the chain over at the same time as he scurried back with John's card to put the transaction through.

John was barely listening to the seller by now, he turned to look at the hybrid who was still kneeling on the floor, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. Mike hurried up to him and gave him a little shake.

"Are you sure about this, John? A second hand hybrid trained for the bedroom isn't exactly...a top choice for a first hybrid. What are you going to do with him?"

John shrugged but kept his eyes on the curly haired hybrid.

"I'll figure out the details later."

Truth be told, even he's not too clear what he's doing. Something about this particular one seemed to draw him in. Listening to the exchange between the two men earlier had made him feel sickened to his stomach and the thought of this creature ending up in the hands of that disgusting prick made John's blood boil.

The seller came back with John's card, the receipt, a leash and a collar that had a tag on it. He handed the card and receipt to John.

"If you'll just sign here, sir. I'm afraid since this hybrid is second hand you won't be able to return or exchange it."

John signed where the seller pointed to and gave it back to the man, putting his copy of the receipt and his card away. He handed the stack of documents to Mike who was still watching somewhat skeptically before he held out his hand for the collar.

"That's fine."

The seller was almost ecstatic at the sale, putting the collar and leash in John's hand and moving to take the chain away from around the hybrid's neck. John was faster and he practically shoved the man out of the way, not wanting him to touch what was now his. Carefully, he loosened the chain from around the slender neck. He frowned at the slightly reddened marks indicating that the chain had been too tight. Gently, John wrapped the collar around the pale neck making sure to leave plenty of room, but he didn't bother with the leash, putting it in his pocket. John's fingers lightly brushed over the hybrid's now collared neck and jaw and he felt the slender body trembling. A wave of protectiveness washed over him and he blinked in surprise.

"Can you walk?" John asked as softly as possible, leaning down as if to shield the hybrid from the eyes of onlookers.

The cat ears twitched and he lifted his head, cautiously meeting John's eyes. The hybrid nodded and tried to stand, stumbling since he had been on his hands and knees for so long. Without thinking, John reached out and steadied him, letting the tall hybrid lean against his smaller frame until he could manage to stand on his own. Inquisitive eyes glanced over him but the hybrid was clearly too nervous to stare, keeping his head lowered and eyes downcast as much as he can. John took the hybrid's hand in his, giving him a smile when he blinked at the doctor in surprise. Most hybrids were kept on leashes when outdoors but John was having none of that. He caught Mike's eye and tiled his head to the exit.

"Let's go."

Mike nodded and followed, wearing an amused grin. John was always a little different than most people, and if he's taken a liking to this hybrid, well, Mike figures it couldn't hurt. But he could tell from this one's eyes that he's been through a lot, John's going to have his work cut out for him, but maybe that's what he needs now, someone that needs his attention and his healing hands.

The three of them walked out of the market place without looking back and John couldn't help the soft sigh of relief he breathed when they made it outside. It had felt suffocating inside, and the fresh air outside was a welcomed change. He felt the hybrid's hand gently squeeze his, pressing closer to him. The doctor swept his eyes over, watching as the slim body almost curled in on himself as if to hide from everything around them. Guessing that the hybrid probably feels slightly more nervous out in the open, John gave his hand an answering squeeze and smiled when the cat ears twitched, the beautiful pale blue eyes peering up quickly at his new owner. John he looked down and frowned a bit, the hybrid's bare feet reminding him that he had no shoes to protect his feet. Looking around, the short haired man cut across the grassy lawn to the road instead of taking the cement path, hoping the soft vegetation will be easier for the dark haired hybrid to walk on.

"Well that was interesting," Mike mused beside him.

John gave his friend a half grin, looking a bit uncertain himself now that he's back in the real world. Inside the market with so many hybrids everywhere it had seemed almost like a fantasy land, but now with the smell of grass and asphalt, the sounds of cars racing by and people walking briskly as they went about their business, John felt like he's being woken from a dream. A dream that he had managed to bring a piece of back into the real world.

"I guess I should be heading back then," John's mind was already whirling as he tried to think of the next logical step.

He'll have to clean the flat up a bit, and luckily Mrs. Hudson had that spare bedroom the hybrid can use. He'll also need time to go do some shopping for clothes for him, and basically figure out what the heck he's planning to do now that he owned another life.

Mike smiled and nodded, handing over the documents he had been holding.

"Right. Better get him settled in. Let me know if you need any help with anything, and let's go out for a pint sometime."

John nodded in agreement, flashing the man a grateful look. Mike was more familiar with owning hybrids, his family having had one back when they were in university together. The two men exchanged goodbyes and promised to have a real get together sometime soon before John hailed a cab to go back into the city. He released the hybrid's hand, opening the door and waiting until the tall hybrid slid in before getting in himself, giving his address to the driver.

In the semi privacy of the backseat, John took his time and really looked at the hybrid. His dark curls were tinted brown when the light hit, falling gently over his forehead. His ears were the same colour as his hair on the outside, the fur looked soft and sleek. The inside were slightly lighter in colour, almost beige and John suddenly felt an urge to reach out and feel them. He swallowed the desire, lowering his gaze to the hybrid's face. His eyes were downcast, trained on his lap, but even so John could see the sliver of blueish green framed by long lashes. His cheekbones were possibly the most defined John has ever seen giving his face a sharp appearance enhanced by his strong jawline.

Suddenly, one of the triangular ears twitched and John caught the sharp eyes flickering to him and he realized he had been caught staring. The hybrid didn't say anything, quickly returning his eyes back to his lap where his hands rested.

"What's your name?" John ventured to ask.

The hybrid looked over once more, eyes wide as if the question had caught him off guard. He blinked at John before clearing his throat.

"I...I don't...the owner..."

His broken answer jolted John's memory and he recalled that owners generally chose the name for their hybrids. John pondered for a bit, he was rubbish at names but he can't call the hybrid 'you' forever. The doctor flipped through the papers he had been given by the seller and pulled out the birth certificate, hoping to find a name there.

"Sherlock..Sherlock Holmes."

The long tail flicked and John noticed him swallow, biting his lip as he heard the name.

"Do you like that name? We can use that one if you want to."

Once more, the hybrid turned incredulous eyes to John. Slowly, he nodded, letting his own eyes sweep over the shorter man sitting beside him, his new owner. Short hair, military cut, eyes tired, sleep deprived, fingers restless, constantly tapping against whatever surface they happened to be resting upon, movements sharp and confident. He bit his lip, tapping down on the urge to voice his deductions. They always got him into trouble and more than once he had gotten beaten for them. Instead he ventured to ask a question that had been plaguing him since the man had stepped up in the market place.

"Why did you buy me? You don't seem like someone with a lot of extra money to spend, and for the amount you paid you could have gotten a new, unused hybrid."

John was silent for a few minutes, thinking over how to answer. It had been a spur of the moment decision and he didn't know how to explain that to the hybrid...Sherlock.

"To be honest I'm not sure myself, I hadn't even planned on purchasing a hybrid, I was just humouring my friend going to that market with him."

"He's concerned for you because of your PTSD," Sherlock's mouth moved before he could stop himself.

John froze and stared slack jawed at the cat eared man. Aside from his therapist he hadn't told anyone about his PTSD, how had Sherlock managed to figure it out? The hybrid gasped softly as he realized what he had said and quickly tried to backtrack.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I just...please, I won't do it again, please, sir.. " his panicked eyes darted around the car, trying to explain.

Trying to calm him down, John reached over and laid a hand over Sherlock's.

Sherlock physically flinched when he felt John's touch as if he expected it to hurt. Unconsciously he pressed himself to the side of the car trying to put as much distance as he can between himself and his owner. His ears had lowered to press against his head and his body language screamed that he expected to be hit.

John frowned at the response, wondering what Sherlock had gone through to condition him like this. Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand, trying to show that he's not going to hurt the hybrid.

"Hey, it's OK. I'm not mad, I'm not going to hurt you. But how did you know?"

Sherlock dropped his gaze, not trusting the words. He's had owners before who acted sweet towards him when the mood hit, but usually when they turned nasty they were the worst. But he had been asked a direct question, and ignoring one's owner usually didn't end well.

"Your...hand. Your fingers are always tapping, you're nervous and unconsciously preparing to spring into action at a moment's notice. Recently back from abroad from the look of the tan lines around your wrists and neck. You show discomfort among civilians, and the way you hold yourself, the way you talk all suggest military. That plus the fact that you're not sleeping well, it's not difficult to link together why," Sherlock's voice was soft as he listed out what he observed.

He silently resigned himself for a scolding when he heard the sharp inhale of breath from his owner. People didn't like it when he snooped, it made them feel vulnerable and frightened that he could see through their secrets, and their way of reacting was usually to invalidate his observations by beating him down.

"That was...brilliant."

The soft exclamation almost went unheard, but Sherlock's sharp ears didn't miss much. He furrowed his brows and glanced over in confusion. Instead of the anger and scorn he had expected, his owner was looking at him with eyes wide in amazement. Sherlock frowned, that's not a usual reaction.

"That was, absolutely amazing."

This time his voice was stronger and a smile broke over John's face. Sherlock blinked, feeling an unusual feeling creeping through him. Confusion, confusion at his owner's reaction. He opened his mouth, then closed it before opening it again, lost for what words to use.

"Wh-what? But you..I..."

Shaking his head to clear it, he straightened a bit in his seat, tail twitching slightly as a sense of curiosity washed over him. This man is starting to intrigue him and that doesn't happen often when it came to humans.

"Do you...really think so?"

John laughed as if the question was ridiculous.

"Of course! Of course I do!"

Feeling somewhat proud of himself, the corner of Sherlock's lips tilted upwards in a small smile.

The doctor shook his head in amazement. He felt something soft and furry sliding over his wrist and looked down to see that Sherlock had wrapped his tail loosely around it. His smile widened, feeling like he had won at least some of the hybrid's trust with this simple gesture.

"By the way, my name's John Watson, and you're right, I was in the military as a doctor. Came back just three months ago. My friend, Mike, he was trying to convince me I needed companionship and thought a hybrid might help, hence why he dragged me to that market today. I have no idea what I'm doing since I've never owned a hybrid before."

Sherlock nodded having already figured all that out. He had bought Sherlock without doing any inspections, without asking his skills, he didn't even ask his age or about his previous owners, standard things that any seasoned owner would know to inquire about before a deal went through. The short haired man had been uncomfortable with the leash, choosing not to use it, and even when he had put the collar on Sherlock his hands had been hesitant as if he wished he didn't have to, but all hybrids had to be collared by law, with the tag indicating basic information regarding the hybrid. Otherwise they risked getting carted off to the pound if the police found them wandering the streets without a collar and tag.

The slim hybrid turned in his seat so he can face John better. He doesn't know if John will regret his impulsive purchase once he has time to think it over later, but he finds himself hoping not. So far the doctor hadn't caused him any pain and spoke to him normally, something his previous owners had never done. He hadn't made Sherlock crawl behind him, or kneel at his feet, he had even allowed Sherlock to sit in the car with him instead of putting him in the trunk as many owners do since cabs didn't charge for hybrids being transported in the trunk like luggage.

"I'll be good, sir. I can be useful, I won't cause any trouble for you."

John felt a sharp pain in him at Sherlock's words. The look in the hybrid's eyes was pleading for John to give him a chance. He lifts his hand from where it covered Sherlock's, fingers lightly brushing over the collar and the tag. It seemed so deplorable that someone so clever and brilliant was reduced to begging when he's clearly more intelligent than the vast majority of the human population John's come into contact with. Trying to smile reassuringly, John moved his hand over the slender neck, letting his fingers wrap around the back, feeling the soft curls tickling his fingers. He gives a gentle tug and pulls Sherlock against himself, hugging him close. The hybrid froze in the embrace, unsure what he's suppose to do, but John didn't mind.

"John...call me John, Sherlock. You never have to call me 'sir'."

Hesitantly, Sherlock allowed himself to relax into the embrace. He was still too scared to return it, but he leaned against John, resting his head on the man's shoulder. The doctor's body was warm, the hug soft and in no way demanding. The hybrid nodded and dared to bury his face a little, sniffing out John's scent.

"Thank you...John."

 

* * *

_**Chapter 1 END** _

Thank you for reading!  All comments/reviews and kudos appreciated~  \\(^O^)/

 **Update June 23, 2014;**  
I MADE A PHOTO MANIP OF KITTY SHERLOCK!!!!  (Full size image [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1833541).)

 

 *Rubs his ears <3*


	2. Dinner and Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the flat, John tries to get Sherlock to eat some dinner before they cuddle up for bed.

 

Sherlock found the more time he spent with John the more confused he was becoming. It hadn't even been 24 hours since the doctor bought him, but already Sherlock was feeling disoriented. When they had arrived back at John's flat, a nice little place in downtown London, the landlady had greeted them at the door. Mrs. Hudson John had introduced her as. She was surprised that John had came home with an actual hybrid, but she welcomed him in and patted his head like Sherlock was some little school boy. John had shown him around, living room, kitchen, bathroom, John's bedroom, and then to Sherlock's utter dismay, his owner had told Sherlock that he can use a spare bedroom that was available upstairs. Never in his life had Sherlock recalled having a room of his own, he was a bedroom pet and trained as such, the most space he got for himself was a cage when he misbehaved. But John had dug out some bedsheets, pillows and a duvet for him, putting them in the spare bedroom, now to be Sherlock's. The thought of sleeping alone was slightly frightening, perhaps John would permit him to at least sleep in the living room if he didn't want Sherlock in his bedroom, the hybrid thought to himself and made a note to ask once bedtime arrived.

For now, however, Sherlock sat on the floor in the living room, organizing some files John had give him as a way to keep busy. He could hear John bustling about in the kitchen making dinner and the smell of food wafted through the air. Sherlock's stomach gave a rumbling growl, a reminder that he hadn't been given anything to eat since the day before. On an empty stomach he was easier to control, not having as much energy to fight back, it was a common tactic sellers used when they were prepping their merchandise for display. He looked down and rubbed at his stomach, now covered by an oversized shirt John had lent to him. The doctor had promised they would go shopping tomorrow for some clothes for Sherlock which had earned him another stare from the hybrid. His previous owner had simply preferred him naked at all times, but apparently John had no such intentions. Gently, he brushed his fingers over the collar at his throat, letting his mind go over all the things he knew about his new owner now. The man seemed to catch him off guard at every turn and Sherlock wondered if John even realizes how strange his behaviour is to a hybrid meant to be a pet.

"Sherlock, come and eat, dinner's ready," John's voice called from the kitchen.

Hurriedly, Sherlock stacked up the files he hadn't managed to organize yet and headed to the kitchen. John was already sitting by the table with a plate of pasta in front of him. Another plate was set across from the doctor and Sherlock paused, looking between the second plate to John. Logic would dictate that that plate was meant for Sherlock, but Sherlock's conditioning dictated that he had no place at his owner's table. Wordlessly, the hybrid slid to his knees beside John's seat, keeping his eyes on the floor.

John made a shocked little cough as his eyes widened.

"Sherlock? You..."

The hybrid's hands clenched into fists in his lap, feeling humiliation rise in him, but this was what he was supposed to do.

John got up from his chair and knelt down beside his hybrid. Gently, he brushed his fingers through the soft, dark hair.

"Sherlock, you don't have to kneel here, come and eat dinner."

Sherlock shook his head frantically. Hybrids are lower than humans, that was the way it was. That was why they're supposed to crawl, to remain physically lower than their owners. At no time were they supposed to be equal to those who owned them. John had already been so lenient, but this, sitting at the same table and eating the same food, he couldn't.

John stayed still for a few moments, trying to coax him to get up. When he realized it wasn't going to happen, he sighed. Standing up, he grabbed the two plates along with the forks and sat himself down on the floor in front of Sherlock, pushing one plate to the hybrid.

"OK, fine. If you won't get up then we'll both sit on the floor to eat."

Sherlock's eyes grew so wide it was almost comical. He stared open mouthed at John, who just grinned back at him. The doctor took a bite of the pasta, all the while watching Sherlock who seemed frozen and unable to move. After a few minutes of staring, John picked up some pasta with his fork and brought it to Sherlock's mouth.

"Sherlock, eat some. I swear, it doesn't taste that bad."

Obediently, Sherlock opened his mouth and accepted the food. He chewed and swallowed as if on autopilot, but he couldn't help licking his lips at the taste. The food tasted so much better than the hybrid feed he had always been given before. He had always yearned for human food, the smell was always so enticing, but Sherlock had learned early on that stealing food from his owner's plate would not be tolerated. The few times he tried he had been starved for days as punishment. Yet here was John, actually feeding him the same food the doctor's eating as if it was the most common thing in the world.

The doctor smiled and took another bite himself.

"Edible?"

Sherlock's tail twitched as he nodded, fighting the urge to ask for more. It didn't matter anyway since John continued alternating between eating himself and feeding Sherlock. The hybrid was so slim that his the indentation of his ribs could be seen when he didn't have the shirt earlier, and John was determined to fix that.

Soon, both plates were empty and John stood up, taking them to the sink to be washed later. He filled two glasses with some water and brought one back for Sherlock, handing it to the hybrid.

"You've got some bruises, don't you? Will you let me have a look at them?" John asked as he watched Sherlock gulp down the water.

Sherlock's ears perked up as he gave the glass back.

"You don't have to...they'll heal soon enough, they're not that serious."

John put the glasses on the table as he ran his hand through Sherlock's hair once more, taking the time to scratch gently behind his ears. Immediately Sherlock leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering as his mouth opened a bit in a soft gasp. That felt nice, lovely. John watched, amused at the sudden change and made a note to do this more often.

"Maybe not, but I'd still like to have a look to be sure, if you'll let me?"

Sherlock wasn't about to argue so he nodded. John's hand moved lower, brushing the hair at the nape of his neck, rubbing softly. Sherlock mewled without meaning to, leaning further and further forward until his head ended up resting on John's shoulder. Blinking in realization that he had touched his owner without permission, he quickly tried to straighten himself, but John brought his other hand up and kept him in place. He worked his fingers down, feeling the first joints of Sherlock's spine, then over towards the hybrid's shoulder, frowning at how tense the muscles were. Sherlock was almost purring at the attention, his eyes having slid shut as he practically buried his face against John.

Suddenly, a burst of pain blossomed through the hybrid and he hissed, jerking back out of his reverie as his ears flattened against his head. Immediately, John removed his hands, eyes apologetic.

"Sorry, sorry, did I touch a bruise?"

Not waiting for a response, John stood up and pulled Sherlock up with him, leading him towards the living room and motioning towards the sofa.

"Let's have a look, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and tugged the shirt off, kneeling down on the floor in front of the sofa. John stood unmoving, feeling a sense of sadness fill him as he wondered if he will ever convince Sherlock that it's OK to actually not behave like a pet. Sighing softly to himself, the short haired man stepped over to his hybrid and put a hand under his chin, making him look up into John's eyes.

"Sherlock, sit on the sofa, OK? That...the lighting's better, easier for me to see," he grasped at a reason to convince Sherlock to get off the floor, and apparently it worked as the dark haired hybrid slowly rose and scooted onto the soft cushions. John smiled in approval as he sat down too, his eyes scanning over Sherlock's torso. A few spots he could see the slight darkening of bruises hidden under makeup, gently he ran his hands over the smooth skin, careful not to press too hard. Sherlock's breath stuttered a few times and John took mental notes as to the locations and the severity of the injuries.

"They...they refrained from breaking the skin since they were selling me. It's all just internal injuries, not as bad as usual," Sherlock's voice was detached as he relayed the information.

John grimaced, wishing he had thrown a few punches the seller's way before they left.

"Is it very painful? I can give you some painkillers if you'd like."

Sherlock shook his head, his tail wrapping around John's wrist like it had in the cab.

"It's fine, I'm fine."

John finished the check up and took a deep breath. Bruised ribs on the left, also behind the right shoulder, near his kidneys as well as his stomach, most likely from being kicked. They had been careful not to touch his face. The doctor reached up and cupped the hybrid's face with his hands, turning his head so that their eyes met.

"Listen, Sherlock, as long as you're here, no one's going to hurt you. I know you might not believe me, but I guarantee it. If anyone ever dares to try, I will break every one of their fingers."

Sherlock trembled slightly at the steely look in John's eyes. So far, his owner had been nothing but gentle and kind, but now Sherlock can see the hardened soldier that lurked beneath. Unsure of what to say, he just nodded. It's still too early to tell how faithful John will be to his word, but at the very least he hasn't experienced any pain so far and that can't be a bad sign.

Leaning in, John gave him another hug, careful of his bruises.

"It's late, why don't you go take a bath and then get ready for bed. I'm sure you're tired."

Unexpectedly, Sherlock found he didn't want to move from John's embrace. The thought of leaving the man's presence made him feel empty. His tail tightened, holding onto John almost desperately as his eyes darted around nervously. Spending a night all alone, no, no he didn't like that idea, he wanted to be near John, John felt safe.

The doctor was startled at the sudden grip the furry tail had on his wrist. It tightened enough to almost constrict the blood flow and John looked down at the hybrid in his arms with concern.

"Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me, Sherlock."

The hybrid shook his head slightly, hesitantly wrapping his arms around the doctor's waist and holding on.

"I...please...please don't leave me alone, s...John," he swallowed the title that had almost slipped out, remembering that John didn't like to be called 'sir'.

Understanding flooded the doctor's eyes and his arms tightened around Sherlock.

"It's OK, it's OK...if you don't want to be alone, then you don't have to be."

They stayed for a few minutes, both unwilling to move. Slowly, John pulled back a bit so he can see Sherlock's face.

"Do you want me to help you take a bath then? Some warm water will help you relax, and we should wash off this makeup they smeared on you, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded his head and followed when John stood up, leading them to the bathroom.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Thirty minutes later, John pulled a freshly washed Sherlock from the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around his waist and another one draped over his shoulders. Now with nothing to camouflage his injuries, the bruises stood out clearly, patches of purple and black against the pale skin. His scars were more prominent as well, some faint from age, others still bright red across his back.

John turned to head into his bedroom, but Sherlock's tug on his hand made him stop and look questioningly at the hybrid.

"Um...I can sleep in the living room, I'll be quiet."

The shorter man raised an eyebrow uncomprehendingly.

"Why would you sleep in the living room? If you don't want to be alone, then it's OK to sleep in my bedroom. We'll just sleep, I promise."

Sherlock shook his head, afraid that John had misunderstood his reason for not wanting to go into John's room.

"You don't want me in your bed, you gave me my own bedroom. The living room is fine."

John looked at Sherlock, then to his bedroom, then back again. He reached up and once more carded his fingers through the newly dried hair, rubbing over the fluffy ears.

"I don't mind sharing my bed, I just thought you would have preferred your own. It's up to you, but you really don't have to sleep in the living room when there are two perfectly good beds you can use."

He waited and watched as Sherlock looked undecided between the living room and John's bedroom. His tail flicked about behind him as he weighed his options. Usually he loathed the bedroom, it was a place where bad things happened. Whatever happened behind the closed bedroom door went unseen from the world which meant owners had free reign over hybrids in there, even more so than usual. His previous owner had kept his cage in the bedroom room, a constant reminder that he can lock Sherlock up in there any time he pleased.

Finally, he took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers firmly around John's hand, shuffling closer to his owner. John smiled and gently guided him into his room, sitting him down on the edge of the bed before going to his closet.

"Hm, I'm afraid I don't really have anything that will fit you. There's just this dressing gown, one of my ex-girlfriends gave it to me."

John pulled out a long robe, the material was fluffy and looked soft, pale blue with cartoonish pictures of hedgehogs all over it. The doctor looked at Sherlock almost apologetically, but the hybrid just smiled a bit and shrugged out of the towels, slipping into the gown. On Sherlock, it only came up mid thigh, but it was warm and smelled like John which the hybrid found calming. His tail curved out from the bottom, rubbing against the material. He didn't really care if he wore anything to bed, more than used to being naked, but if John insisted.

The doctor pulled back the duvet and fluffed up the pillows while Sherlock stood by the bed, feeling a little nervous. Usually he's allowed on the bed only when his owner wants to be pleasured, otherwise he's either on the floor or in his cage. If he performs especially well, his owner might permit him to spend the night at the foot of the bed, but those times were rare. John looked at him expectantly but Sherlock was completely at a loss. His eyes flickered between the bed, John and the floor, knowing what the doctor wants, but ever fibre of his being telling him it's not OK, he's not allowed, he can't. After a few minutes of silence, John's brow furrowed and he stepped towards Sherlock, reaching out to take his hands.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

The hybrid allowed the touch to steady him, licking his lips.

"I'm...not supposed to...not allowed to...," he made a motion towards the bed, "I should sleep on the floor."

John blinked, wanting to laugh at how absurd it is, biting his lip so he doesn't give voice to it. A perfectly nice bed in front of him and Sherlock thinks John's going to let him sleep on the floor.

"Sherlock, the floor is hard and cold, hardly comfortable for sleeping. The bed's more than accommodating for two people. And I should warn you, if you insist on sleeping on the floor, then I'm sleeping on the floor too."

The hybrid made a startled squeak, looking at John with alarm. No, no, he can't allow the doctor to spend a night on the floor, that's unthinkable. Quickly, he hurried onto the soft mattress as John pulled the duvet up over him. It was so soft, Sherlock felt the mattress mold to his body and his muscles relax, sinking down. His ears flicked on the pillows as he rubbed his nose in the fabric, smelling John in everything.

The doctor smiled as he watched, leaning down and brushing a few stray curls from his forehead.

"I'm just going to wash up and change, OK?"

Sherlock nodded and his eyes followed the shorter man as he pulled out his own pajamas and headed back into the bathroom. Left alone, Sherlock carefully stretched himself out, letting out a short burst of soft laughter as he realized just how big the bed was, and that he didn't have to curl up in just a corner. His ears listened to the sound of running water through the closed bathroom door, taking comfort in that fact that John's just on the other side.

He looked around the room noting how sparsely decorated it was. Everything was neat and clean, a habit left over from John's army days no doubt. A clock on the bedside table, a calender on the wall with only a note every week for meetings with his therapist. There was a small desk in front of a window with a laptop and lamp on it. A dresser stood beside the door to a closet, otherwise the room was bare.

Sherlock wondered if he would have a place here, in John's life, or if he's going to turn out to be a temporary addition to the room. The thought made him curl up under, his tail wrapping around himself as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. No, he didn't want to be temporary, he wanted to stay. John's voice didn't make him quiver with fear, his touch didn't equal pain or injuries, he didn't stink of alcohol and cologne, poured on to mask the smell of drugs and cigarettes. Sherlock fingered over his now bared neck, remembering his collar. After the bath John had insisted he doesn't put it back on, having noticed that the leather band was too thick and cut into the soft flesh of Sherlock's throat. He had promised they'll go get a collar with a slimmer band tomorrow, something Sherlock can pick for himself.

The door connecting the bedroom to the bathroom opened and John stepped through, dressed in a t-shirt and long pajama bottoms. Sherlock's ears turned towards the man as he turned off the lights, climbed up onto the bed and slipped under the duvet. He kept a careful distance from Sherlock, keeping to his side of the bed, but he turned so they faced each other. The soft light from the window allowed them to see each other in the darkness, and Sherlock leaned his head forward, hoping John will pet him again, and the doctor gave a soft chuckle, complying to the unspoken request. His fingers lightly pressed and massaged at the base of Sherlock's ears, stroking over the soft fur.

Soon, a low noise rumbled up from Sherlock's side of the bed and John blinked in surprise, suddenly realizing that the hybrid was actually purring. His eyes were closed, head nudging up against the doctor's hand and John wasn't sure Sherlock even realized he was doing it, but without a doubt that was a purr. Unable to resist, John dipped his head and pressed his lips against Sherlock's forehead. Immediately, the hybrid's eyes snapped open and he stared at John who felt a slight moment of panic, unsure if perhaps he had made the hybrid uncomfortable.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean.."

His apologies were cut off when Sherlock wiggled closer, tucking himself under John's chin. His heart was pounding, praying he won't be punished for this bold behaviour. John hadn't given him explicit permission to touch, but if Sherlock read the signs right, that kiss on his forehead had meant John wasn't adverse to physical contact with him. Without thinking, John wrapped his arms around his hybrid and pulled him close, burying his nose in the dark curls. His hand continued its petting, the other hand running down Sherlock's back soothingly.

"You're going to be OK, you're safe now."

John's voice was soft, a mere whisper, as if reassuring Sherlock as well as himself. It hasn't even been twenty four hours since they met, but somehow he found something in Sherlock he needed, yearned for. He's determined to protect the hybrid from anymore pain and abuse, something Sherlock had clearly been subjected to far too much already.

Sherlock snuggled into John, his eyes sliding shut. For the first time in his life, he felt comfortable, safe, possibly...content? John's words sparked something in him that Sherlock thought had died so long ago, or maybe he just never had it. Too tired to think anymore, Sherlock pushed it to the back of his mind to be pondered over another day.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 2 END** _

Thank you for reading!  All comments/reviews and kudos appreciated! \\(^O^)/

 


	3. The Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a shaky start to the morning, John and Sherlock head out for some much-needed shopping. We also get to learn a bit about Sherlock's past owners.

 

Sherlock woke the next morning extremely confused. He wasn't cold, he wasn't sore, nothing hurt, just a little dull throbbing. He wasn't tied up, he wasn't covered in bodily fluids, and there was no one yelling and kicking at him to wake up. Usually after a night with his owner he'd be so tired that he would almost pass out, but his owner always woke him bright and early, usually for some morning sex. That or he would be ordering Sherlock to prepare the breakfast. Now, the hybrid slowly sat up, he was on a bed, and not at the foot of it. Panic spiraled through him and he quickly whipped his head around, trying to see if his owner had caught him breaking the rules.

No one. The bed was empty except for him.

Sherlock's ears flicked and he looked down, suddenly realizing he's actually wearing something. The soft blue night gown brought back a wave of memories. John, the market place, he had been bought. Sherlock rubbed his eyes, slowly looking around the room once more now that sunlight streamed through the windows. No, not a dream, still here. But then, where's John?

As if on cue, the doctor walked in through the door, smiling and already dressed. He brought with him the scent of freshly cooked eggs and toast, along with...Sherlock took another sniff, bacon. Remembering the dinner from last night, Sherlock felt a small light of hope that perhaps John will allow him some of the food this morning too, he won't eat much, just a few bites.

"Morning, did you sleep well?"

Sherlock pushed back the covers and crawled on all fours over the mattress, meeting John at the edge of the bed. His tail swished behind him, eyes raking over the doctor. The short haired man looked better rested than yesterday, refreshed from a shower he had taken this morning, his hair was still a bit damp. Sherlock glanced at the clock on the bedside table and squeaked in surprise at the time. Eleven twenty three!! He had slept almost to noon?! The hybrid couldn't remember a time he hadn't been woken up later than seven in the morning, and that was when his owner was feeling particularly kind. Sherlock's eyes widened pleadingly, instinct demanding he apologize in the hopes of not being punished.

"S-sir, I'm sorry, I didn't realize the time!"

John winced at the title and Sherlock realized belatedly he had slipped up. Quickly he tried to back track, his head dropping until his forehead was pressed against the bed, a sign of total submission.

"J-John..John, I'm sorry, please..."

The doctor's smile fell as he took in the sight before him. His heart ached seeing Sherlock react this way even after everything he had told Sherlock last night. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers through the hybrid's hair, hoping the familiar touch will calm him down.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, it's OK, shh, you didn't do anything wrong, it's OK."

The hybrid's body was shaking, curled up on the bed, but at least the rambling apologies had stopped. With a soft sigh, John sat himself down beside Sherlock, running a comforting hand along his back.

"Sherlock, look at me, it's OK, I'm not angry I promise. Just, look at me, please?"

For a moment more, Sherlock didn't move. John didn't pressure him, simply continued to stroke his back. Slowly, the hybrid peeked his eyes out from under his curls and John's breath caught in his throat. Sherlock's eyes were red, the remnants of tears still visibly on his cheeks. He had been so frightened that the hybrid had started crying. John wrapped an arm around over Sherlock's chest and pulled him up, sliding his other arm around the shaking hybrid's back. The doctor cradled Sherlock to his chest, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

"Oh, Sherlock...don't cry, please, don't cry," John whispered gently against the dark locks.

Sherlock clung to John's shirt, unable to stop the hiccuping tears.

"Please...John, I'll be good, I-I won't m-make a mistake again, I'll be good...d-don't send me back..."

"Shhh, shhh, you're not going back, you're not going anywhere, Sherlock, you're staying here with me. I said you're safe here, didn't I? I meant it, Sherlock, you are safe."

It took a while but finally John managed to get Sherlock's tears to stop. The hybrid still refused to let go of his shirt, but at least he wasn't crying anymore. John's kisses moved from Sherlock's temple to his hair, even going so far as to brush his lips over the soft ears. Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath at the feeling, digging in tighter against John. The doctor let him stay like that, uncaring as the minutes ticked by.

It wasn't until almost half an hour later that Sherlock untangled himself from John, looking up at him from beneath his lashes. John gave him a warm smile, using his thumb to wipe away the tear trails on the hybrid's face. He kissed Sherlock's forehead once more, wanting Sherlock to know that everything's OK.

"Are you all right, Sherlock? Do you feel OK?"

The hybrid sniffed and nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You're...really not angry?"

John shook his head and moved his hand to rub at Sherlock's ears.

"No, not angry at all."

Sherlock's mouth tilted up in a small, hopeful smile and John matched it with a smile of his own. Carefully, John rubbed a hand over Sherlock's tummy.

"Are you hungry? I made breakfast...well, lunch now."

The furry ears flicked with interest and Sherlock's stomach answered with a growl. John laughed as the hybrid blushed, ducking his head.

"Come on, let's get you some food, yeah?"

Sherlock followed John eagerly into the kitchen, but to his surprise there was nothing on the table. Instead, the doctor led him past the kitchen and into the living room where he had set up two plates of buttered toast, eggs, bacon and two glasses of milk on the coffee table in front of the sofa. John sat down and pulled Sherlock into his lap making the hybrid mewl in surprise. Apparently John wasn't about to risk Sherlock insisting on kneeling on the floor today. He took one plate of food and set it down beside them before picking up a piece of toast with his fingers and holding it out for Sherlock. By now the food was only slightly warm, but Sherlock didn't mind, it still tasted quite delicious to him. Happily he munched on the offered toast, licking John's fingers when he finished.

John watched with amusement, the hybrid was eating as if toast was the most delicious thing he's ever eaten. A chilling thought suddenly struck the doctor and he hesitated to ask as he used the fork and picked up a piece of bacon, holding it up to Sherlock's mouth.

"Sherlock...your previous owners, they...they did feed you every day, right?"

Sherlock bit the bacon and mewled at the taste. Meat, he's only ever been given meat for really special occasions, like his birthday or Christmas, and afterwards he had always been expected to repay the kindness shown to him by his owner.

"No, not usually," Sherlock answered after he had swallowed the yummy bacon, "my first owner liked us slim. She was a fashion designer, and she liked using us to model her clothes during house parties, so she only fed us when it was absolutely necessary.

My second owner liked collecting hybrids and making us fight amongst ourselves, so almost every day after he came home from school he would set us upon one another. Winners got to eat, losers didn't. Sometimes he'd make us fight with the hybrids of his classmates, if we lost then it got really bad. He would get really angry, a few of his hybrids died from the beatings he gave them. I wasn't really much of a match for the others since I didn't have a lot of muscles built up, so most days I went without food, and I got a lot of broken bones for losing against his classmates' hybrids.

And my third owner, my last one, he...he was the one that had me trained for the bedroom. When he got me I was still untouched down there, but because of all the physical damage my price was low which was why he bought me. He liked overpowering me, feeling me struggle under him but unable to get away, so feeding me well didn't fit with his plans. Usually I got some scraps, if I was lucky I got actual feed. Sometimes he'd give me food, then after I had eaten he'd change his mind and force me to throw it all up. Later he found out that was a good way to train my gag reflex. It got to the point where if I ate more than a certain amount my stomach would physically reject it and I'd throw it up without needing any help."

Sherlock rattled off his history as if he was talking about what he did during his summer holiday. His tone was distant, eyes dull, but a few times he smiled bitterly at the memories.

John, on the other hand, felt like a raging ball of fury was simmering inside him. With each word Sherlock uttered he had the urge to hunt down the sadistic pieces of garbage and send them into the Thames, weighed down with cement. People actually starved their hybrids on purpose? Well, he supposed it shouldn't be such a surprise, if people could beat, rape and even kill their hybrids, starvation didn't seem like such a far stretch. Pulling Sherlock tight against him, John felt himself getting choked up imagining everything the hybrid had been through. He shook his head and took a deep breath, now wasn't the time to think about himself, he needs to take care of Sherlock.

The doctor looked at the plate of food then at Sherlock with concern.

"Is this too much food? Let me know if you can't eat anymore, you don't have to eat everything, OK?"

Sherlock shook himself out of his thoughts and smiled at John.

"OK. This...and last night's pasta...they're the best food I've ever eaten. Th-thank you," the hybrid's cheeks flushed pink.

John picked up some of the eggs on the fork and brought it to Sherlock's mouth, watching him take a testing bite.

"You're welcome...and we'll get you to try lots of other delicious foods from now on, Sherlock. If you'd like, we can get you some recipes and you can try cooking the foods you like yourself."

At that, Sherlock beamed up at John, feeling proud as he proclaimed, "I can cook. My last owner made me learn. I can cook for you, John, will you let me?"

John looked at the hybrid in surprise and then chuckled at the excitement in his voice.

"Yes, of course, as long as you want to, you may have free reign of the kitchen."

Sherlock purred with joy and took another bite.

Another hour later, both plates were emptied as were the glasses of milk. Sherlock managed to eat half a plate and John finished up the rest, feeling quite ravenous since they had skipped breakfast. The doctor sent Sherlock to wash up and change out of the night gown while he washed the dishes, preparing to go out for their shopping trip. Aside from clothes and shoes for Sherlock, John added a collar, mobile and some personal grooming products, along with some cooking ingredients to his need-to-get list. Mrs. Hudson had also asked him to grab her some tea and biscuits the next time he went out, he'll have to remember.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom in the same trousers as yesterday, along with the shirt John had lent to him.

"We'll take a cab to the shopping area so you won't have to walk too much without shoes on," John told the hybrid as he grabbed his keys and wallet.

The tall hybrid nodded and came up obediently behind John, holding out his collar and leash. With a soft sigh of resignation, John took the collar and placed it around Sherlock's neck once more. He tried to adjust the leather band so it wouldn't cut into the pale skin, but no matter how he moved it, the collar was simply too thick, the upper edge rubbing against the top of Sherlock's throat.

Sherlock tried to give him a reassuring smile, his tail once more wrapping lightly around John's wrist.

"It's OK, I'm used to it already. It doesn't hurt that much."

The doctor gave the back of Sherlock's neck a gentle squeeze, pocketing the leash like yesterday. He'll keep it on hand in case he needs it for an emergency, but otherwise he refused to even think about leading Sherlock around on a leash. With a quick look around the flat to make sure he didn't forget anything, John led Sherlock out into the street.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

The shopping district was noisy and crowded. Humans walked around, flitting from store to store as their hybrids followed close behind, usually crawling after their owners. Sherlock caught more than a few stares as he followed closely behind John, aware of the disdainful glares he attracted. To allow a hybrid to walk at the same height as humans, especially in public, was highly controversial, but John paid the gawkers no mind as he strode confidently towards his destination. He never really though about the hybrids before, accepting them as just a fact of every day life, but now that he had Sherlock, John found himself sneaking glances at them. He noticed the multitude of scars and marks on some of their bodies, he noticed the frightened looks in some of their eyes, he noticed the way their heads drooped as they crawled, the harsh cement scraping against their hands and knees. Some of the kinder owners allowed their pets to wear protective clothing, but others didn't care. Sherlock's tailed tightened around John's wrist where their hands were joined, ears twitching nervously. He didn't like attracting attention, attention usually resulted in unwelcomed touches.

John could sense the tenseness that was practically radiating off from Sherlock's body. He walked slowly so that the hybrid would be able to keep up even though he had no shoes on. The doctor kept his eyes alert for any broken glass on the ground or other obstacles that could harm Sherlock's unprotected feet. He directed them to a shoe store, the automatic glass doors sliding open quietly to let them in. The store was quite large, rows upon rows of footwear spread out before them, the selection of colours and designs almost overwhelming.

"What kind of shoes do you want, Sherlock?" John asked as he led the hybrid down one aisle, absently looking over the merchandise.

Sherlock froze and looked around, utterly lost. No one's ever asked him what he's wanted...for anything. He had no idea, he didn't even know where to begin.

John turned to his hybrid when he felt him stop moving. Sherlock looked almost panicked and John quickly tried to calm him down.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, look at me," the doctor waited until the steel blue eyes settled on his face before he continued, "It's OK, I'm right here. We'll look around and if you see anything you like, just let me know, OK?"

The hybrid took a deep breath and nodded, eyes scanning over all the different choices.

After an hour of looking around, John and Sherlock decided on a pair of black dress shoes, a pair of dark brown boots, and a pair of sneakers, along with several pairs of socks. John asked him if he wanted some slippers to wear around the flat, but Sherlock shook his head, feeling more comfortable bare foot when indoors.

Sherlock put on the sneakers before they continued their shopping, feeling strange with the things on his feet. They seemed kind of heavy, a constant reminder of their presence, but it was warmer and the bumps and cracks in the cement outside will no longer make walking a painful affair. As he sat on the chair, looking at the new shoes on his feet, Sherlock glanced at John next to him. A feeling of shame washed over him and he quickly averted his eyes, but his owner saw the sudden change in Sherlock's expression and placed a hand on his back, looking at him with a soft smile.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Do you not like them? We can still return them if you want another pair instead."

Hastily the dark haired hybrid shook his head, looking horrified at the suggestion that he would dislike something his owner had bought for him. His ears drooped as he recalled John pulling out his credit card to pay for the shoes. John was not a wealthy man, his military pension was enough to keep himself fed and clothed, and he had some savings from before, but he didn't live extravagantly. Buying Sherlock and now having to spend money on a pet he didn't even want in the first place, Sherlock was sure this will strain his budget for the coming months.

"I...I can help pay. I can work in the hybrid houses, John, I've worked there a bit in the past."

The doctor's eyes widened as the words fell from Sherlock's lips. Hybrid houses. They hired hybrids for various uses, generally for mundane jobs that humans didn't want to do. Their conditions were notoriously poor, but it was a way for some owners to add an extra source of income and make some money out of their hybrids. Usually owners would send pets they were tired of, or as a way of punishment since contracts with hybrid houses varied between single jobs to long term employment. John had a feeling he knew what kind of job Sherlock would be doing in a place like that and his voice shook when he asked.

"You worked in a hybrid house? Doing what?"

Sherlock shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"My previous owner put me in one for six months to get me used to servicing people. It prepared me for the parties he held when his friends and acquaintances would come and play. The owner of the hybrid house was fairly nice, she let me roam around when I wasn't with a client and I met some other friendly hybrids there."

John's stomach churned as a wave of nausea hit him. Sherlock continued on without pausing.

"She told me I was one of her best employees and if I ever needed employment I was welcome to go back. If I go two or three days a week I can help you pay for these things, John."

The short haired man sat back in the chair, needing a moment to just breath and make sure his breakfast didn't make its way back up his throat. Sherlock's tail flicked against his wrist, almost rubbing as if to help him relax. Finally, after several long moments of silence, John turned to face his hybrid.

"Sherlock, you never need to work in a hybrid house again. If in the future you want to work, I can help you find a regular job somewhere, but not at a hybrid house. And if you work, it will be for yourself, not to pay me, not to pay anyone else."

The hybrid looked confused, not understanding why John's so opposed. He didn't mind, and John would have more money coming in. It sounded perfectly logical to Sherlock.

John's hand slid into Sherlock's, pulling him in for a hug. The hybrid rested his head on the doctor's shoulder, feeling himself become more and more familiarized to John's touch.

"Sherlock, listen to me. You're body is yours, not anyone else's. Don't let anyone hurt you...use you like that, OK? You deserve better."

John's instructions were blurry to Sherlock, but he wanted to please the man, so he nodded.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Shopping for clothes turned out more difficult that John had predicted. Much like with the shoes, Sherlock had been utterly overwhelmed by the choices, all the colours, designs, the different materials available, it was mind boggling. He had some experience with fashion from his first owner, but back then she had chosen everything for him to wear and Sherlock hadn't ever had to make choices himself. Now he looked through racks on racks of pants, seeing only slight differences between them. Long, short, loose, tight, finally Sherlock had given up and randomly grabbed a few outfits that looked simple enough and didn't cost a small fortune.

John looked at the clothes Sherlock had picked, mostly button down shirts, a few casual ones, dress pants and a pair of jeans. John himself preferred loose and comfy, but Sherlock seemed to be drawn to the more fashionable end of things. When the hybrid went to try the clothes on John had to admit he seemed to instinctively know which clothes suited himself. The outfits looked stunning on the hybrid and even some of the other customers also trying on clothes stopped to stare.

Sherlock tried to convince John that he didn't need so many clothes, after all most of his time will be spent in the flat and even just a night gown would do, but John had brushed away his protests, loading up a cart with shirts and pants of various colours and designs. He took the time to get some boxers for Sherlock as well as a pajama set along with a nice dressing gown, dark blue and soft made from imitation silk but still good quality. True this little shopping spree is going to cost him a month of his military pension, but John had some money saved up, it's not like he had much to spend money on prior to this anyway. He didn't indulge in any expensive hobbies, didn't have a taste for going out all the time, and he didn't have a family to support.

As they made their way to the cash registers, John suddenly felt a hand land on his back. Startled, the doctor whirled around coming face to face with a man in his early forties, a bit taller than himself, sporting short black hair peppered with grey.

"Johnny boy! I knew that was you!"

John gaped and only the feeling of Sherlock pressing closer to him shook him out of it.

"Oh, uh, hi! Wow! Haven't seen you for a while,..." John's voice tiled up hesitantly as he tried desperately to match face to name. He knew the man from the military, a fellow officer he had come across during training.

"Chris, Johnny boy. Christopher Tanning, remember?"

"Right! Right, yeah, of course, Chris. What are you doing here? I heard you were climbing the ranks over in Afghanistan."

The man laughed and patted John on the shoulder, making him wince. His voice was loud, boisterous and John felt Sherlock shift behind him, using the doctor like a shield between himself and this stranger.

"Decided the risks of getting blown up weren't worth it," the man raked his eyes past John and settled on the hybrid half hidden behind him. He tilted an eyebrow up with interest, stepping to the side a bit to try and get a better look at Sherlock.

"Oh? What's this? Why Johnny boy, I thought you weren't interested in hybrids, this is a surprise."

As Chris moved, John became aware of the hybrid who had been kneeling behind him. A female with a pair of small antlers poking out from her long blonde hair. Her head was down and John couldn't see her face, but as Chris moved, she shifted a bit to follow her owner.

"Oh, uh, yeah. This is Sherlock, he's...uhm...I got him just recently," John's voice was slightly unsure, glancing back at the his hybrid. It made him grimace to talk about buying Sherlock like a product.

Chris' eyes narrowed slightly noting that not only was the hybrid walking upright, but that he was fully clothed as opposed to his own pet whose low cut, sheer shirt and miniskirt left little to the imagination.

Sherlock's head was down, shoulders hunched as if he was trying to hide himself. This was the first time he's being introduced to a human being while standing up and it was utterly terrifying. His tail gripped around John's wrist tensely and he felt himself shaking.

The doctor sensed his hybrid's alarm and he turned a little, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist in the hopes that the touch will help calm him down a little.

"Well its, he's, got a nice face," Chris caught himself, noting the way John frowned slightly when he had used 'it'. "Congratulations, Johnny boy. Maybe you can bring him over some time. I've actually got a few cat hybrids of my own I've been thinking about breeding, he looks like he'd be a good match."

Chris reached forward as if to pet Sherlock, but before he could, John pulled the hybrid back, throwing a strained smile at the other man.

"Sorry, I'm kind of busy recently, new job. As a matter of fact, Sherlock and I should get going, have a meeting to get to," John guided Sherlock away from Chris as he talked, desperate to get away. The mention of breeding had come out of nowhere and the doctor had felt like his breath got knocked out of him when Chris brought it up.

"Oh, well good luck with that! You've still got my email, right? Shoot me a message when things settle down, it'll be good to catch up," Chris gave them a little wave as John ushered Sherlock towards the checkouts, calling out his goodbyes.

As soon as the pair were out of hearing range, John turned to Sherlock. He hadn't removed his hand from around the hybrid's waist and he could feel how tightly the muscle were contracted. The mop of curly hair still hid Sherlock's face as he kept his face down, shuffling his feet as he followed John.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you all right?" John's voice was laced with concern as he tried to peek at the hybrid's expression. That had been a decidedly unpleasant encounter and no doubt it had shaken Sherlock quite a bit. He moved them to a corner, away from other customers and store staff and stopped, turning to face him.

"Sherlock, talk to me, how do you feel? Do you need to sit down for a bit?"

As if his legs decided to simply give up standing, Sherlock sagged back against the wall, burying his face into his hands. He took several deep, shuddering breaths and didn't move when John gently wrapped him in a warm hug.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry you had to go through that," John whispered softly into his ear as the doctor's hands stroked through the soft curls, letting Sherlock press his face against his shoulder.

Gradually, Sherlock felt his heart beat return to a more normal speed, but he made no move to leave John's embrace. It was warm, and safe, and if he closed his eyes then he could let his mind forget everything else except his owner's smell, his touch, his voice. He knew John wouldn't push him to breed, but when Chris had brought it up it still caused panicked fear to shoot through him. He pressed closer to John, making soft, rumbling noises, the beginnings of a purr, as the shorter man brushed his ears and kissed his hair.

"Do you want to go home? We can get the rest of the things later," John's voice asked softly.

It was tempting, so tempting. Even though Sherlock had only been at John's flat for one night, it still made him feel safe. He wanted to go back and sit in John's lap, he wanted to get away from all the stares and strangers that bustled about. But before that, Sherlock wanted to make one more stop.

"Y-yes, but...," Sherlock looked up and met John's eyes, "Please...will you choose a collar for me before we go?" His words were spoken so quietly John almost missed it. It felt like Sherlock was pleading, terrified of asking for something from John.

Licking his lips, Sherlock gathered his courage and spoke more clearly.

"I-I'd like one that you pick, John. Please?"

The request caused a wonderfully warm feeling to bloom in John's chest. His arms tightened a little more around Sherlock and he pressed a soft kiss to the hybrid's temple.

"Let's pick one together, then, yeah?"

By the time the two of them caught a cab and were on their way back to the flat the sun was already setting. Three pairs of shoes, enough clothes for Sherlock to change out of for a week or so, and a brand new collar. Sherlock sported the piece around his neck proudly, every once in a while brushing his fingers over it. They had picked a leather one, soft and slim. The outside was lined with a thin metal plate, silver, offering contrast to the black of the leather. The tag that dangled from the front stated Sherlock's name on the front, and on the back there was John's name to indicate who Sherlock belonged to as well as their home address.

The store clerk had been shocked when John asked Sherlock what he thought about the various collars they were considering. The neck piece was one of the most important pieces for a hybrid, stating directly without any question the ownership of the person who had bought him or her. For that reason, owners generally chose collars with care, but to actually ask the hybrid for an opinion? The store clerk's wide-eyed stare had been indication enough that that didn't happen very often.

In the cab, John hid a smile when he noticed Sherlock touching the collar again, rubbing the tag between his fingers. John had told him he didn't have to write anything under "Owner", just an address would be enough, but Sherlock had insisted on putting John's name down. Now he was curled up on the back seat, legs feeling tired from all the walking. The hybrid wasn't used to moving around so much on two legs and his muscles were exhausted. He really did look like an over sized cat like this, head tucked over his bent arms, legs curled up until he was almost a ball. His tail was wrapped around himself and his eyes were closed.

John couldn't help reaching down and petting the soft curls. Immediately, Sherlock shifted his head until it rested in John's lap, purring softly. Before they had finished up their shopping trip, John had stopped at a sweets shop and bought him an ice cream cone. Sherlock was ecstatic at the treat since he had never tried it before. At first the coldness startled him, but as the sweet, vanilla taste filled his mouth Sherlock's eyes had practically glowed with delight. John's eyes were amused as he watched Sherlock, eating his own at a much slower pace. He made a mental note to get some ice cream when he goes to the supermarket, maybe several flavours for Sherlock to try. He quite enjoyed this, Sherlock so relaxed and seeming content, and taking care of him had John feeling a new sense of being needed. The doctor felt a new sense of looking forward to things, eager to see Sherlock try new things and watch his reactions.

As the cab made its way back to their flat both owner and hybrid felt that maybe, just maybe things would work out OK.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 3 END** _

Thank you for reading!!  All comments/reviews and kudos appreciated \\(^O^)/

 


	4. The Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock settles into life with John + Angst at a cafe

 

For the next few days, Sherlock gradually grew accustomed to John's routine. He'd get up around eight, have breakfast, tap away at his laptop for an hour, watch some telly, read a bit, then make lunch. After lunch, he liked going for a walk, usually at a park or somewhere quiet where there wasn't a lot of people around. John said it helped him think and sort his thoughts out. Sometimes on his way home he'd stop at the supermarket to get groceries. After that, he'd come home, clean the flat a bit, maybe help Mrs. Hudson with some repairs if any were needed, then set about making dinner. Once the dishes were washed and put away, he'd settle down for more telly, check his emails, and shower before heading to bed around ten or eleven.

It was a simple schedule and Sherlock quickly adapted himself to it. He got up just a bit before John would, making breakfast and having it all ready for John by the time he comes out of the bathroom dressed and washed. The doctor had told him it wasn't necessary, he could sleep in if he wants, but Sherlock enjoyed cooking for John. It felt nice to do something for the man, and the rewarding smile and praise he got always sent a thrill of pleasure through Sherlock. They took turns making lunch and dinner, however, and John had been impressed with the large variety of meals Sherlock could prepare.

John found he had a lot more free time with Sherlock around. The hybrid would help clean the flat as he tapped away on his blog, or when he's cooking, although he stayed away from the vacuum. He hated it, the sound too loud for his sensitive ears, so whenever John brought it out Sherlock would scurry upstairs to the spare bed room to hide.

Watching telly had proven an unusual experience with Sherlock around as the hybrid would roll his eyes and make remarks under his breath. It amused John beyond words the things his hybrid could pick up on. A misplaced thread, a subtle twitch, the heaviness of makeup, it seemed no detail escaped Sherlock's eyes, and he could deduce the meaning behind every one. Before now, Sherlock was mostly confined to crawling, the most he could see of others were from below the knees. He had had to deduce things about humans based on their voice, their smell, their touch if they touched him and whatever part of them he could see. Now with the option of watching telly with John, and going on walks with the doctor, Sherlock was able to fully flex his deductive skills. He seemed so happy at the chance to show off that several times John had taken him out to sit on a park bench for an hour or two, just letting his hybrid rattle on about the passerbys. This man was having an affair, that woman just got a new job, these boys are on a trip from Cardiff, that elderly couple had just bought a house out in Sussex. It never failed to make John smile, hearing how Sherlock came to these conclusions and he marveled at the intelligence of his hybrid. Surely with such a brilliant brain like that Sherlock's skills could be put to more productive use than entertaining John, and he wondered if Sherlock had ever thought about a job where he could make use of his skills. Probably not, the hybrid probably never considered he'd ever have a chance to work anywhere...except a hybrid house.

Initially John kept the walks short for Sherlock to get used to walking around. Gradually, he noticed the hybrid dragging his feet when they were heading home and allowed the walks to last longer and longer. Sherlock really seemed to enjoy being outside. He mentioned that he so rarely got the chance before, and now he seemed determined to make up for it. Everything held interest for the tall hybrid, the wind through the leaves, the bustle of the city, the cars racing by, the clouds floating in the sky. Whenever they went walking, as John walked along the paths, Sherlock would bound off, exploring. He never went far, and always within sight of the doctor, but he'd attempt to chase birds, or sniff the grass, or pull down leaves to examine. One time John had even caught him climbing a tree that had low hanging branches, trying to poke at a bird's nest to see if anything was inside.

Aside from listening to his deductions, John loved having Sherlock try new foods. After every walk, John would take Sherlock somewhere for a quick snack before they headed home. He liked sweets, cakes, tarts, ice cream all made him mewl happily, his tail flicking back and forth behind him as he ate. John did feel bad when there were other hybrids around, most of whom were stuck curled up at their owner's feet, but he couldn't do anything. Sherlock often got a distant look in his eyes when he saw those hybrids, probably remembering his own experiences, and it made John's heart squeeze painfully whenever he spotted that expression on his hybrid. At those times, John would move himself close to Sherlock and pull him down for a hug, silently reassuring Sherlock that things are different now. John found that the best way to calm Sherlock down if something upset him was just a simple touch, a hug, his fingers stroking through the silky hair, or even just a brush of his hand against the hybrid's. Sherlock seemed to latch onto him to ground himself and John felt an unspeakable joy knowing that Sherlock trusted him enough for that.

"Yoohoo, boys, I baked some biscuits for you!"

The sing song voice drifted from the stairs as Mrs. Hudson appeared at the threshold. She peeked her head into the living room and smiled as she spotted John sitting on the sofa with Sherlock curled up beside him, head in his lap. Seeing her, the hybrid pushed himself up, blushing.

"Oh, cheers, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock was just telling me how much he enjoyed your sweets."

The woman laughed and set the tray of biscuits down on the coffee table, patting Sherlock on the head fondly. His cheeks reddened even more but smiled shyly at her. He liked her, Mrs. Hudson, she talked to him like John did, gently and without any trace of disdain. Several times she had dropped by to bring up snacks or tea for them and it was clear she was enjoyed mothering John and now Sherlock.

"Well that's awfully kind of you, Sherlock. I've heard from John you're quite the cook, you'll have to teach me some of your recipes some time," she gave the hybrid a wink.

Sherlock's smile widened and he nodded enthusiastically.

"O-oh, yes, OK, I mean...if John doesn't mind," he glanced over at his owner, feeling relieved to see the doctor was smiling at them.

So far they hadn't been apart anymore than absolutely necessary, and Sherlock's not sure he's ready to go anywhere without John, but maybe, someday in the future, maybe...

"Sure, yeah, that's a great idea. Sherlock's meat pies are absolutely delicious, Mrs. Hudson, way better than any I've ever eaten at any restaurant."

Sherlock's hands fidgeted in his lap and his ears twitched in embarrassment. He wasn't used to being praised so much although it did make him feel good that John's happy with something he can do.

Mrs. Hudson stayed for a bit longer, chattering away with them before she made her way back down the stairs. John picked up one of the biscuits and held it up to Sherlock's lips, smiling as the hybrid took a bite without any hesitation. Even though Sherlock had gotten used to eating at a table and no longer tried kneeling on the floor, he still enjoyed it a lot when John would feed him. It brought all of the doctor's attention on him, and when John cuddled him on the sofa to feed him Sherlock could let himself be surrounded by John's smell, his touch, everything. The short haired man had sensed his hybrid's preference to be fed instead of having to eat on his own, so he tried to indulge Sherlock as much as he could. Truth be told, he too enjoyed those times when he had an arm around the hybrid, watching the pretty mouth eat the food he offered.

The biscuits were still warm, fresh out of the oven. Sherlock purred softly as he swallowed, opening his mouth for more. John pulled him into his lap, continuing to feed him and eating a few himself.

"My therapist was telling me that I should start looking for a job soon. Get back into working again. Do you think that'd be OK? If I started working?"

John's words made Sherlock mewl in distress. John, gone for hours every day? He'd be all alone, what would happen? What if someone comes to try and take him away? With his previous owner it had been a relief when he left him alone, a chance to recover, but Sherlock didn't want to be away from John and especially for hours at a time. Sherlock's slender fingers gripped John's shirt tightly, afraid to say what he's really thinking, but hoping desperately that John would understand.

The doctor had expected the reaction and he calmly placed his hand over Sherlock's, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to Sherlock's ear.

"Hey, hey, it's OK. It was just a thought. If you're not ready to be on your own then I don't have to. It's OK, Sherlock."

The hybrid wrapped his arms around John's torso and pressed himself against the man, burying his face against his neck. The move caused John to shiver, feeling Sherlock's warm breath breeze over the sensitive skin. He gently stroked over the hybrid's back, feeling the bumps and grooves along his spine even through the material of Sherlock's shirt. The doctor settled back into the sofa, letting himself sink into the cushions.

After a few minutes of silence, John suddenly felt the press of soft lips against his throat. It was so soft that he thought he had imagined it at first, but then Sherlock shifted in his lap to reach easier. It was tentative, unsure, the same way Sherlock did anything he wasn't quite positive he was allowed to do. His mouth moved a bit, kissing up along John's neck lightly, not daring to press too hard. As he starts mouthing along the short haired man's jaw, John made a small noise.

Surprised, the doctor pulled back a bit so he can look down at the hybrid's face. Sherlock's ears and tail were tense as he cautiously gazed up, eyes darting over John's face.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was curious, but he carefully made sure it held no hint of disapproval.

The hybrid dropped his head, his hands fidgeting in John's shirt.

"I...I want to thank you...for, um, well for everything," vaguely Sherlock motioned towards the flat.

Everything that John's done for him, the way he treats him, the way he goes out of his way to ensure Sherlock's comfort, the hybrid wanted the doctor to know how much he appreciates it. He wanted to do something for John too, anything, and this was the only thing that came to mind. What else could he do? He didn't have anything else to offer besides his body. Sherlock knew John wasn't adverse to him being male or a hybrid. He had noticed the slight dilation of the doctor's pupils sometimes when they sat in front of the fireplace. He could hear the slightly irregular beating of John's heart sometimes if he pressed his sensitive ears against the man's chest. A few times he had discretely taken John's pulse when they held hands, and if Sherlock pressed a little closer, or breathed lightly over John's neck, he could feel it speeding up. Sherlock's pretty sure even John didn't know he was exhibiting the signs, but clearly the doctor's body wasn't disgusted by Sherlock or his touch. If John wanted him, then Sherlock's willing to submit. After everything John's done for him, it was the least he could offer in return.

John was torn between a flood of emotions. He felt moved that Sherlock would offer himself, but sad that Sherlock would consider using his own body as a way of showing thanks, along with anger and disgust at the bastards who had made Sherlock feel this was OK and expected just because John had shown the hybrid some kindness.

He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat. The doctor knew he had to take this carefully. It wasn't that he wouldn't be willing, but not like this.

Physically, Sherlock was beautiful, his pale skin almost ethereal at times, the mess of curls on his head soft and contrasting beautifully against his skin. Sometimes Sherlock would ruffle his hands through it, messing it up even more than usual and John found it most endearing. His eyes were sharp, observant, widening in wonder or narrowing in thought. He was tall, lean, cutting a striking figure wherever they went. His ears were sleek, the fur shining when the light hits, complemented by the sleek tail that flicked and or swished behind him, communicating his mood. Then there were his hands, expressive when he talked, fingers slim and long. John loved when those fingers clung to him, or when they held hands. Sherlock's hands were large, much more so than his own, and always so warm. When Sherlock would squeeze his hand John always felt a little thrill run through him.

If Sherlock had shown interest in him out of his own free will, then John would certainly have returned his advances, but presently Sherlock was doing this out of a sense of repayment and probably obligation, as pet to owner. No, John couldn't take advantage of that.

Gently, John placed a hand under Sherlock's chin to make sure he could see those beautiful eyes. He didn't want to make the hybrid feel like he was rejecting him, but he needed to make it clear that Sherlock should not consider his body as a something to be used in such a way.

"Sherlock, listen to me. You are amazing, intelligent and beautiful. So please, don't ever use your body like that, for any reason. Don't let people touch you for any reason except if you want it, if you desire that person to, OK? You're too precious to be used like that."

Sherlock's brows furrowed uncomprehendingly.

"But...I want you to, John. I don't mind if you touch me."

John smiled, trying to think of a way to get Sherlock to understand.

"But you want me to touch you because you want to repay me, yeah?"

The hybrid nodded in response.

"Sherlock, there are other ways of repayment. Your body should not be used in exchange for something."

Sherlock worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to grasp what John was saying.

"But...but I don't have any other way to repay you..."

The blue eyes dropped sadly as his voice quieted to a soft whisper. It nearly broke John's heart to watch and he tightened his arms around his hybrid, hugging him close.

"Oh, Sherlock, don't be silly. Of course you do, you've been doing it all along. Having you here has already been wonderful, the days are more interesting and even Mrs. Hudson and my therapist have noticed my mood getting better. That's all you, Sherlock, you and that brilliant mind of yours."

Sherlock felt even more confused. He didn't recall doing anything in particular that could be considered repayment, and yet here was John telling him how wonderful he was. The praises fell from John's lips so easily when Sherlock almost never received them before, the doctor really did make him baffled sometimes. Slowly, Sherlock settled against John once more, mind still going over everything John had said.

"So...you don't want to have sex with me?"

The doctor pressed a soft kiss to his hair.

"What I want is only half the equation, Sherlock. The other half is you. Maybe one day, if you really want to with me, not for repayment or any other purpose except because you want me, then we'll see."

John smiled down and let his lips brush against Sherlock's temple.

"For now, though, we should let you heal up. You still have those bruises, remember? And I still have lots of food I need you to try. Anything in particular you want after our walk today?"

The distraction tactic worked and Sherlock immediately latched on to the idea of more yummy food for him to experiment, rambling on about the choices he had.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
The afternoon air was cool, ripe with the scent of rain. It looked like a storm was coming and will probably hit in the evening.

John sat at the little table in the cafe, drinking a cup of coffee as he watched Sherlock across from him. They had decided on some cheesecake for an after-walk snack, and John drank his usual coffee while Sherlock tried a cafe latte. John hid a grin behind his cup when Sherlock hissed at his own drink after taking a tentative sip. His tongue was more sensitive than humans but in his haste to try things he often neglected to let his food cool enough. Sherlock growled and glared at the drink as if it was the most offending thing in the world at the moment, his ears flatted and tail tense. John used a cough to cover up his laugh as he reached over and took the cup, blowing over the surface to help it cool faster.

After a minute he set it back down in front of Sherlock and watched in amusement as the hybrid cautiously tried to drink it again. It seemed the temperature was more to his liking this time and he happily took a bigger gulp.

"Mm, it's good. A bit thicker in texture too, from the added milk I imagine, and not as bitter as the coffee. Although it's still...bitter."

John smiled, the hybrid really didn't care for the bitter drinks and had dumped in a few spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee when he first tried it to sweeten it. He nudged over the little jar of sugar sitting on the table and Sherlock grabbed it in delight, adding some to his drink once more.

Being with Sherlock made John appreciate the things he so often took for granted. He didn't realize how many luxuries he had, even simple things like being able to buy the food he liked, getting to eat and sleep whenever he wanted to, enjoying the fresh air at his own convenience, he never thought about the hybrids that lived among them who were deprived of these choices. It struck John as extremely shocking that Sherlock never complained about the treatment he got from past owners. He would tell John what they did if the doctor asked, but only stating them as facts, as if that was just the way things were and although he clearly disliked it he accepted it. Never did he ask why were humans allowed to treat their pets in such ways, or as a matter of fact, why were hybrids considered pets in the first place. If anyone ever tried treating John in such a way he knew he certainly wouldn't tolerate it and would fight tooth and nail until either he stopped breathing or the other person did, but then, perhaps that was just what hybrids were conditioned to believe. Ever since their birth they are simply taught that this was the way things were and that's that. One of those, 'life is unfair, deal with it' situations.

A gasp of delight from Sherlock drew John out of his thoughts. He looked over and saw that the hybrid had taken his first bite of his cheesecake and was staring at his plate like he had struck gold.

"Sherlock? Everything all right?"

The sharp ears twitched and immediately his tail started swinging behind him in excitement.

"John! John this is astonishingly delicious!" He took another bite and John actually saw his eyes flutter with delight.

"Yeah? Well good, I'm glad you like it so much."

Sherlock finished his piece in record time and sat back in his chair, patting his stomach.

"We can get a few slices to take home. Maybe Mrs. Hudson can teach you how to make some yourself," John smiled at the hybrid.

Sherlock was more or less purring as he drank the rest of his latte feeling refreshed from their walk and now quite content with his snack. John reached over the table and wiped a few crumbs from the corner of his hybrid's mouth, thinking how adorable Sherlock looked when he got excited, like watching a child explore a new world around them for the first time.

After resting a bit longer, the two got up to leave. John went up to the counter to get some extra slices of cheesecake to take home when suddenly he heard a loud crash behind him. He jerked around and saw Sherlock standing, half turned towards a man who appeared to have came up behind the hybrid. Behind the man, a male hybrid followed on hands and knees, trying to cower back from the commotion as much as his leash would allow. Sherlock's expression was one of shocked horror, while the man looked livid with rage. Within seconds John understood what had happened. When Sherlock pushed his chair back to get up the man must have come up behind him causing the hybrid to crash into him. Fortunately the man hadn't been holding anything hot, but unfortunately it looked like he had had a sandwich and drink which were now spilled all on the floor.

Before anyone could react, the man had brought his hand down across Sherlock's cheek causing the hybrid to fall back with a pained cry, crashing into the table and falling to the ground.

"You stupid animal, look what you've done! Why are you standing? Know your place, get on the floor!"

Immediately John rushed over, he grabbed the man's arm just as he lifted it for a second strike. With a quick flick of his wrist the doctor pinned the arm behind the man, almost growling as he twisted it until the man let out an angry roar.

"Shut up. It was just a sandwich and drink, I'll pay for them. How dare you raise a hand against my hybrid? Apologize."

The man gave a huff of disbelief, turning his head and glaring at John.

"Who the hell are you? Apologize to it? Are you crazy?! Get off me before I call the police!!"

John snarled and pressed against the arm harder.

"I. Said. Apologize."

The man yelped and John took the chance to kick his leg out from under him, bringing him down on his knees hard.

"You're going to break my arm!! FINE!! I'm sorry, all right?! Fuck, let me go you crazy lunatic!!"

John released him and calmly stood, walking over to Sherlock. The hybrid hadn't moved from where he had fallen, cradling his cheek and looking terrified. John gently placed a hand on his back and the other covered the hand Sherlock had over his cheek.

"Sherlock? Are you OK?"

The doctor's voice seemed to snap the hybrid out of his terror and he blinked, eyes immediately filling with tears. He scurried back away from John's touch and lowered himself down on his hands and knees, head lowered and visibly shaking.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, please, please, forgive me..."

The apologies fell from his lips and slammed into John. By now everyone in the cafe was watching, some whispering to one another. It made it even worse, Sherlock having all these humans watching him. John was at a loss, what could he do? If he tried to touch Sherlock again, it might just make things worse, but he was not having Sherlock crawl out of here. He will physically pick Sherlock up and carry him back to the flat if he had to, but he was not having the hybrid crawl. Just as John was about to throw caution to the wind and attempt to lift the hybrid when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and saw the sales clerk from the cafe. She gave him a sympathetic smile and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Bring him to the back, it'll be easier to calm him down away from all these people."

John blinked in surprise but quickly smiled gratefully at her before turning back to Sherlock. Carefully, he carded his fingers through the silky hair, pressing a soft kiss against one of his ears.

"Sherlock, come with me, OK? It's going to be OK."

The hybrid didn't say anything, pliantly allowing John to take his hand and pull him up. The clerk directed them around the counter and into the back, showing them a small, empty office they could use. John sat Sherlock down in the chair and crouched down beside him, reaching a hand up to brush his fingers against the reddened cheek. The short haired man looked sadly at his hybrid when they came away wet from tears. Sherlock winced a bit at the touch but didn't react otherwise.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John, can you hear me? Can you say something?"

Silence.

John sighed a bit, frustrated at himself for not knowing what to do. The door to the office opened and the clerk returned, holding a cup of warm tea.

"Here, this might help."

John accepted the drink and gave the girl a questioning look. She smiled at him and shrugged.

"I think it's nice that you treat your hybrid so well. It's rare to see. And I could see your hybrid really likes you a lot. I'm sorry this happened though," she made a motion towards Sherlock who didn't even acknowledge her presence, "I kicked that other guy out, told him we don't serve customers that physically assault other customers."

The doctor stood up and smiled in reply.

"Thank you. I'll pay for any damages you got."

She waved away his offer, shaking her head.

"Nah, no worries. You just take care of him, he seems like an interesting hybrid," she peeked over at Sherlock.

"Yeah, he is. An absolute genius," John turned back to Sherlock as he talked.

He placed one hand at the base of the hybrid's neck, massaging gently as his other hand brought the tea up, tasting it a bit to check the temperature before bringing it to Sherlock's lips.

"Sherlock, will you drink some tea for me? Just a little bit."

Automatically the hybrid's mouth opened and allowed John to pour some of the beverage into his mouth. He didn't say anything nor did his expression change as he swallowed.

John sighed and put the cup down on the desk. He moved to face Sherlock directly, cupping his hands around the hybrid's jaw. He felt a chill at how empty Sherlock's eyes looked, the usual excitement and curiosity completely gone.

"Sherlock, can you hear me? it's John. Please, say something, Sherlock, let me know you're OK."

Silence fell on the room for several minutes. No one moved or said anything. When John was sure Sherlock was just not going to talk, the hybrid's eyes suddenly focused and he seemed to realize it was John's face in front of him. He blinked several times, mouth opening then closing although no sounds came out.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you OK?"

"J-John...?"

The hybrid's voice was so soft John almost missed it. He gasped in relief at the recognition in Sherlock's voice and leaned forward to hug him. Behind him, he heard the clerk give a happy little sigh of relief as she quietly slipped out the door again, leaving the two of them alone.

John pulled back from the hug so he can see Sherlock's face again. The hybrid seemed to be slowly coming out of his stupor as he looked around before focusing on the doctor once more.

"The...the man, what happened? Where is this?"

John's let his fingers trail through Sherlock's hair.

"He's gone, don't worry about him. This is an office in the cafe, Sherlock. We're still at the cafe."

Sherlock's gaze turned pleading as his hands suddenly clutched John's shirt.

"J..John...I want to go home...please, can we go home?"

The voice sounded so desperate that the doctor couldn't help enveloping the hybrid in his arms again, as if trying to hide him from all the bad things out there.

"Yes, of course, Sherlock. We'll go home right now."

Sherlock stood up shakily and John took his hand, leading him out of the room. The clerk was putting some dishes away as they came out and she waved, coming over with a small box.

"Here, your cheesecake. I put in a few extra slices."

John nodded and thanked her, asking for her name before they left. Isabelle Daylen. He'll have to come back and thank her properly some time, she really helped them out today.

Sherlock didn't say anything during the exchange, keeping his head down and almost gluing himself to John's side. Once outside, John hailed a cab to take them back to the flat. He was relieved Sherlock seemed to be recovering, but it's going to take some time and lots of care before he can put this episode behind him.

John let Sherlock curl up beside him, petting his hair. He'll be patient. He'll be as patient as Sherlock needs him to be because in those few horrific moments when he thought Sherlock had forgotten him, John suddenly realized how important the hybrid had become to him.

 

* * *

CHAPTER 4 END

Thank you for reading!  All comments, reviews, suggestions and kudos much loved!!  <3

 


	5. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock stumble on a crime scene and meet Detective Inspector Lestrade.

For the next few days, Sherlock was extremely nervous whenever they went outside. He stuck by John, allowing no more than a few steps between them.  If anyone came near them he grew visibly anxious, latching onto John's hand. 

John kept a wary eye on his hybrid, making sure he didn't go into a panic attack and kept them away from crowded places. He kept the walks short and confined to areas that had as few people as possible.

On one of their walks, John took Sherlock to a mobile shop and helped the hybrid pick out a phone.  Even though they were hardly apart, the doctor wanted Sherlock to get used to using one and it turned out the hybrid enjoyed playing around with it. Now, when John was busy with something, Sherlock would lounge around on the sofa, clicking away on his phone. He had quickly learned how to use the gadget, and was delighted at having access to the internet. Whenever he learned something new he would come running to John to share.

Did John know the difference between the hundreds of different types of tobacco ash? Did John know that slugs were hermaphrodites and sometimes had to chew off their penises to disengage after sex? John wasn't even sure how he came about learning some of these things, but he found himself looking forward to when Sherlock would bound up to him, phone in hand and excited as a child in a candy shop.

About two weeks later, Sherlock had pretty much forgotten the incident at the cafe. Their lives settled back into a regular routine and John was feeling good enough to cut his therapy to once every other week.  John made sure Mrs. Hudson would keep Sherlock company when he did go for therapy, since Sherlock didn't like being left alone, and he always hurried back right after. His therapist commented that every time he came in he would end up talking about Sherlock. Things the hybrid had gotten up to, things they did together, and after every session John would find several texts waiting from him that the hybrid had sent, at exactly ten minute intervals.

'John, it's hot today. S'  
'John, Mrs. H is wearing a new perfume. S'  
'John, Mrs. H is sleeping with the owner of Speedy's. S'  
'John, I think there are mice in the walls. S'  
'John, this show makes no sense. S'  
'John, the pigeons outside the window are staring at me. S'

John would smile and laugh at his phone, earning him some weird looks as he headed back to the flat.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

On a Friday afternoon as John and Sherlock wandered down a street, on their way home after a walk, the spinning lights and siren of a patrol car caught the hybrid's attention. He watched, ears perked up and alert as the car turned into an alley and the siren halted. His nose twitched as he sniffed the air with interest, eyes widening a bit as he licked his lips.

“There's a body. I smell a dead human body.”

John looked at Sherlock, startled. A few people gathered at the mouth of the alley and Sherlock gave John a pleading look, clearly wanting to go and see. Curious himself, John led the way. Usually this was a quiet neighbourhood and crimes were rare. Could there have been an accident? Possibly...murder? A familiar rush of excitement flushed through the doctor before he could stamp it out. No, no, stop it John, death was nothing to get excited about.

The entrance to the alley had been sealed off with police tape but it was clear there was a body lying not too far into the alley. A woman, from the looks of it, dressed in a bright pink coat, lying face down in the dirt. Between the police that wandered around, gathering evidence, John caught a few glimpses of the victim. There didn't seem to be any blood, but there was no ambulance either, so clearly she was dead and not just injured. The doctor turned to talk to Sherlock, but found the hybrid's eyes glued to the body. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and every muscle was tense as he inspected the scene. His tail flicked behind him before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, typing quickly.

“She's from Cardiff...came in for an overnight stay, possibly for Scotland Yard's press conference regarding the recent string of serial suicides. Married, but it looks like not happily.”

John stared, his brain not processing the sudden seriousness in Sherlock's voice. This was the first time he had seen the hybrid act this way, and the slight gleam of excitement in his blue eyes was just a bit unsettling.

“How...? What?” John managed to stutter as he looked between the victim and Sherlock.

“Hey! You, what did you say?” One of the officers who had been standing near them walked over, eyes suspicious as he looked Sherlock over. John didn't miss the way his mouth frowned when he saw the ears and tail on the hybrid, but he refrained from saying anything.

“Ah, DI Lestrade. You were in the papers this morning,” Sherlock didn't seem at all concerned as the detective inspector stopped in front of them, clearly displeased at having a by-stander nosing around his crime scene.

“What were you saying about the woman? How did you know all that?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Her coat's wet, even from here I can see it and smell the rainwater on her. From her pocket there I can see the tip of a folded umbrella which she neglected to use, probably due to heavy wind. Checking on my phone it appears the only place near London that had rain and heavy wind recently was Cardiff.

Her alarming colour choice would indicate someone in the media profession, and I know from the papers Scotland Yard had a big press conference this morning regarding the three serial suicides. She would make four. It could be a coincidence, a journalist is just in town on the same day as such an important press conference, but I've learned that the universe is rarely so lazy.

She has a wedding ring on, so married. But comparing her ring to her other jewelry I can see it's dirtier, not as well cared for, a clear statement of the state of her marriage.”

Both John and the DI were staring openly at Sherlock by now. He glanced between them as if he had stated the most obvious thing in the world and raised an eyebrow at their astonishment.

“You're...you're just making that all up! There's no way you could have figured all that out,” the DI exclaimed indignantly although he was clearly shaken at Sherlock's confident deductions.

Once more the hybrid shrugged.

“She should have a suitcase too, if those splash marks on her leg are any indication. Probably matches the colour of her coat. Her killer most likely took it accidentally, should be near here since it's likely he tossed it after finding out he had it. And yes, detective inspector, there's a killer, it's not a suicide. A professional woman in the prime of her career wouldn't choose a grimy alley to kill herself. And balance of probability would indicate that the killer's a man.”

John thought it was possible the DI might slap a pair of handcuffs on Sherlock right there from the look he was giving the hybrid. Instead he tilted his head contemplatively, giving Sherlock a once over, then looking to John.

“Who are you boys? What're your names?”

The doctor stepped up, reaching a hand out and trying to smooth over some ruffled feathers.

“Uh, John Watson. This here's Sherlock Holmes.”

“He's your hybrid?”

“You...could say that, yes.”

After a few seconds, the DI reached out and took John's hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, as your hybrid so rightfully guessed earlier.”

Sherlock grumbled under his breath, something about not guessing. John couldn't help the slight grin as he peered over at the hybrid and nudged at him to offer his hand too. Sherlock looked at him and then hesitantly reached out, looking like he was afraid he might contract some disease from touching Lestrade. The DI didn't seemed to care and gave his hand a shake.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I don't know if you're right about everything, but the business card in the victim's pocket did indicate she's from Cardiff, and yes, she was at the Scotland Yard's press conference earlier, I remember her pink coat clearly. So at the very least you got that much right. I'll have my boys take a look around for that suitcase you mentioned.”

John felt a flood of relief that they weren't going to be arrested as suspects, but then, killers wouldn't return to crime scenes and then start rattling off information about the victim so blatantly, would they?

“If it was indeed a murder, I might have some more questions for you. Where can I find you boys?”

John looked at the DI, unsure if he meant questions to help catch the murderer, or questions to see if they were the murderers.

“Oh, um, Baker Street. 221B Baker Street,” he gave their address and his and Sherlock's mobile numbers before Lestrade got back to his crime scene.

Letting out a sigh of relief and disbelief, John pulled Sherlock away from the alley, chuckling.

“Wow...that was...wow.”

Sherlock watched his owner, the concentration from earlier slipping away as he realized what he had done.

“That...was that not good? I...I couldn't help it, it was all so obvious.”

John laughed and pulled Sherlock into a hug, ruffling his hair and making the hybrid mewl.

“No, it was fine. I'm just surprised we're not getting carted away as suspects, that's all. You were amazing, those deductions, brilliant.”

Sherlock nudged his head against John's neck, returning the embrace and wrapping his tail around them.

“I read the morning papers today, NSY was getting desperate for leads on the serial suicide case. That DI was most likely happy to get any new information he could.”

The shorter man nodded and pulled back so they could start walking again.

“Yeah, he looked quite impressed with you, Sherlock. Seems like an OK bloke.”

The hybrid nodded in agreement, at the very least the DI hadn't seemed to discriminate against him for being a hybrid. He expected the man to call within a day or two, because undoubtedly it was murder, and Sherlock felt a thrill run through him at the thought of chasing down a criminal.

 

The rest of the day John and Sherlock spent back at the flat. As John made dinner, Sherlock borrowed his laptop and searched for everything he could find on the case. His fingers flew over the keys and the doctor could only shake his head in wonder at how quickly Sherlock had gotten used to typing. He himself still typed like a baby woodpecker pecking away at each letter. By the time they settled down for dinner, Sherlock had made several pages of notes regarding each supposed suicide. It was the first time John had seen the hybrid get so involved with something and instead of letting John feed him leisurely, Sherlock wolfed down a few bites of food before hopping back to his research.

As John got himself ready for bed, Sherlock was still sitting at the table in the living room, staring at the computer screen. He had taken to pinning his notes up on the wall over the sofa and once in awhile he added some new information to his growing mountain of material. John read over some of them but shook his head in confusion, not seeing the link between them.

“Sherlock? Coming to bed?” The doctor asked softly into the hybrid's ear, making it twitch.

“Um...can I...just a bit more research?” Blue eyes looked up at John, mouth pouting slightly. It was adorable, and John leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“OK, but don't stay up too late. You need your rest.”

Sherlock purred and reached up to hug John, nuzzling against him. The doctor couldn't resist as his fingers brushed over the dark hair, rubbing at the base of the soft ears. That earned him more purring and the long tail swished happily.

Finally, when John couldn't hold back a yawn anymore, he pulled away.

“Good night, Sherlock,” he called out as he headed for the bedroom.

The hybrid watched his owner's retreating back, taking a few moments before he gave himself a shake and returned to working. By the time he slipped into bed beside John, it was well into the early hours of the morning. He had a pretty clear image of what was happening with these killings, and if Lestrade were to call on him again, Sherlock was sure he could help them solve the case within a few hours. Well, if he doesn't call, maybe Sherlock could convince John to take him down to NSY in person.

With that happy thought, the hybrid curled up against his owner, smiling as John instinctively moved closer and draped an arm over him. In the darkness of night, and with John fast asleep, Sherlock contemplated for a moment before he pressed his lips gently against his owner's. John may have rebuffed his advances before, but more and more Sherlock found himself wishing the man would stop giving him chaste little pecks on his forehead, over his hair, and instead press that mouth against his own. He wondered what John would taste like, how the man would sound if he rubbed his rough little tongue against the doctor's.

Well, the man had said possibly some day, so Sherlock will wait. He won't ask for more than he's already given, after all John's already given him so much more than he ever imagined he could have. Sherlock will wait, but that didn't mean he couldn't steal a kiss here or there. He licked lightly over the doctor's soft lips, then froze when John sighed in his sleep, arms pulling Sherlock closer. Smiling to himself, Sherlock snuggled down and closed his eyes, feeling warm and content in John's arms.

 

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 5 END** _

Thank you for reading!!  All comments, reviews, suggestions and kudos appreciated~!!

I'm trying to use the ASiP case to introduce Sherlock to NSY and get him into solving cases, but clearly I had to tweak some details since I doubt Lestrade would just let him go inspecting corpses when he doesn't know Sherlock.  I also had to leave some things out, like Sherlock knowing the woman had affairs, since he couldn't inspect the inside of her wedding ring to know she took it off regularly.  Hopefully it all made sense ^^;;  

 


	6. The First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John share their first kiss, and Sherlock solves his first case!

 

The call from Scotland Yard came the next morning. John groaned as he rolled over in bed and picked up his phone. Eight o'clock. He yawned before answering, flopping back down against his pillow.

“Yes, John Watson here.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Watson. This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, we met at the crime scene yesterday.”

“Oh? Oh! Yes, I remember. What can I do for you, Detective Inspector?”

“I need you to come down to Scotland Yard, with that hybrid of yours, Sherlock. Have some questions. Can you be down at ten? Ask for me at the reception.”

John looked over at Sherlock as Lestrade mentioned his name. The hybrid had made a little disgruntled noise when John moved to reach his phone, and now he was trying to burrow his head into the duvet to keep sleeping.

“That's no problem, we'll be there.”

He hung up the phone and sighed. Lovely, trip to Scotland Yard. Well, at least they're not being dragged in in handcuffs for questioning, that's a good sign.

Sherlock's head peeked over the top of the covers, rubbing his eyes.

“Scotland Yard? Want us in?”

John nodded, grinning lazily at the adorable picture his hybrid made. He laid back down and gathered Sherlock in his arms, burying his nose against the brunet's hair. Sherlock purred and nuzzles against him, wrapping his tail around John's waist under the covers.

"Who do you think killed that woman?" The doctor asked absently, letting the memories from yesterday slowly come back to him.

He hadn't seen a dead body since coming back from Afghanistan, and in the middle of the city the scene looked so very different than out on the battlefield.

"The same person who's been killing all those other people in those supposed suicides."

John looked down at Sherlock, slightly concerned.

"A serial killer?"

Sherlock nodded, "Well, the general definition for a serial killer is someone who has killed more than three people. The lady yesterday was his fourth victim, so yes, a serial killer."

John tightened his arms around Sherlock, running his hand up and down his back.

"I don't mind you helping Scotland Yard, but be careful, OK? Don't want you becoming the target of some psycho killer or something."

The hybrid mewled and arched a bit into John's touch.

"I'll be careful, I promise, John."

The two stayed in bed a little longer before they got up. Sherlock practically flew out of the bed, pouncing on John's laptop to check for any news that might have came in over the night regarding the case. John chuckled and shook his head, taking his time to wash up and change before going to make breakfast. Sherlock added a few more notes to his wall as John cooked and by the time they sat down for breakfast both of them were dressed and ready for the day.

Sherlock had chosen a dark purple shirt, matched with one of his dress pants and it looked absolutely stunning on him. John helped the hybrid tuck it in, smoothing out the back before playfully tickling his tail. Sherlock squeaked and turned, pouting and glaring at John. He let out a feigned growl before pouncing on the doctor, knocking him back onto the sofa. John laughed as he caught an armful of Sherlock, happily noting that even in the short time the hybrid's been under his care, it seems he's added a bit of weight to his body.

Sherlock trapped John under him, leaning down and snuggling his head at the doctor's neck. The shorter man tilted his head back instinctively, shivering a bit as the silky curls brushed over his skin. That felt nice...so nice, and it's been so long since John's felt such affection for anyone. Without realizing it, John's hand wandered over Sherlock's slim back, coming to a rest at the base of his tail. He rubbed it gently making the hybrid jerk, causing him to press his hips down against John's leg. The doctor made a startled noise and Sherlock froze. For a second, everything stood still as both owner and pet waited to see if the other would do anything.

Slowly, Sherlock lifted his head, peering down into John's face with wide, uncertain eyes. His eyes flickered between the doctor's cobalt eyes and his lips, swallowing down his nervousness. Carefully, Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's, just a brush of lips on lips. John's hand tightened ever so slightly on his back, and Sherlock ventured to peek his tongue out, running it lightly across the doctor's soft lips.

John's sharp inhale of breath was barely heard as he tilted his head to the side, better positioning their mouths together. Sherlock mewled at the sign of permission and he pressed the kiss deeper. His tailed wrapped around the hand John held at its base as the doctor's other hand cupped the back of his head. John tried to keep the kiss soft, but Sherlock wasn't having any of that. His lips moved over John's mouth, taking the chance when the doctor's mouth opened to breathe to slip his tongue inside. John was surprised at how forward his hybrid was being, but at the same time he felt a swell of pride that Sherlock no longer feared being reprimanded or punished for his actions. He didn't try to push the hybrid, but let Sherlock take the lead, gasping softly when the hybrid's inquisitive tongue found his own. Sherlock lapped at his mouth, his purr causing his whole body to vibrate.

After a few minutes, Sherlock pulled back, licking his lips. He looked nervous, unsure how John's going to take that kiss. It was the first time he had initiated anything and his heart was thundering in his chest, making it hard to breathe, The doctor looked up at him and caught the glimpse of uncertainty. Stretching up, he placed a kiss to the hybrid's forehead as a way of reassuring him that John wasn't angry, after all he had returned the kiss.

"O-OK?" Sherlock asked quietly, his ears twitching as John's hand found its way to them, massaging the base, "That wasn't for repayment...it was...I just wanted to."

The doctor smiled and nodded, pulling his hybrid down for a hug. He ran his fingers over Sherlock's collar, wishing the hybrid didn't have to wear it. He knew it didn't bother Sherlock so much, but to John it was a firm reminder that as much as he wished otherwise, Sherlock was still considered property legally.

"I know, it was good. Thank you."

Sherlock mewled at the approval, his tail swinging in the air.

"You taste like tea, John."

The short haired man laughed and kissed Sherlock's temple.

"And you taste like sugar, from all those sweets you've been eating. Which reminds me, let's stop somewhere after Scotland Yard for a snack today. What do you feel like?"

Sherlock pondered for a few minutes before he lifted his head, ears perked up and alert.

"Doughnuts."

John grinned and nodded before he glanced over at the clock.

"Doughnuts it is. We'd better get going if we're going to get there by ten."

The two hopped up from the sofa and raced each other out the door.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Inside the New Scotland Yard building everyone was rushing around. John looked left and right, unsure where he was supposed to go. Just as he was about to step up to a young police officer to ask for DI Lestrade, he caught sight of the man behind some desks, talking to a female office with curly brown hair.

"Ah! Mr. Watson, we were expecting you."

Lestrade walked over, reaching his hand out to shake John's.

"Doctor. And you remember Sherlock, I'm sure."

The DI nodded and smiled at the hybrid, giving him a once over. It was unusual for a hybrid to be so well dressed...so conservatively dressed actually. That plus the fact that Sherlock was walking upright, without a leash and Lestrade knew John wasn't exactly like the other owners out there.

"Yes, of course! You really surprised me yesterday, and I guess I should thank you too. We did indeed find the pink suitcase near the crime scene."

Sherlock stuck close to John, ears and tail tense. He didn't enjoy the presence of authority figures, they made him anxious and the power they held made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Every one of the people he saw here were alphas, including the females. Dominant, confident, exuding the need to exert their power, it felt suffocating. John's hand wrapped around his own and Sherlock re-focused his eyes back onto Lestrade.

"So what did you need us for today?" The doctor asked.

The DI started moving towards one of the offices, motioning for John and Sherlock to follow. Many pairs of eyes turned and trailed after them, some surprised, some disapproving, some simply curious. Sherlock felt the hairs on his neck rising at the attention, his ears picking up on the whispers. No doubt he'll be the gossip of the NSY for a few days.

Lestrade closed the door after John and Sherlock got into the office, along with the officer he had been talking to earlier.

"This is Sally, Sally Donovan. We're working the case together."

She turned a judging frown towards the pair, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. The hybrid sniffed and coughed, too much perfume on this one. Trying to hide something, another scent, a male scent.

"I honestly don't know what you guys think you can do. I mean clearly yesterday you got a few lucky guesses, but we have the best of the force on this case. It's hardly something for civilians to meddle in," she told them.

Sherlock ignored her and turned back to Lestrade, who had pulled out a file folder and laid it on the desk.

"Well, it doesn't hurt. Since you were so good at picking out clues yesterday, we thought we'd let you have a look at the crime scene photos and see what you can gather. We already know her name was Jennifer Wilson, she was from Cardiff as you said yesterday and was in town for the press conference. We know she was poisoned, as was the case with the previous three serial suicides, but if you're right and they're not suicides, then we have no leads as to who the killer might be."

Cautiously, Sherlock approached the desk and opened the file. He thumbed through the photos, studying a few intently. After a few minutes, he pulled out two photos and spread them on the desk; one of the victim's left hand and one of the tag on her suitcase. John moved closer and took a look, noting that she had tried clawing some letters into the dirt with her finger. R-A-C-H-E.

"Rache. One of our forensics said that means revenge in German, so maybe there's a German connection to this case?" Lestrade shrugged, showing he had no clue what that connection might be.

"Did you find her phone?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade blinked and shared a look with Sally.

"She didn't have a phone."

Sherlock's blue eyes narrowed and he tapped the photo of the suitcase tag.

"She had to have a phone. The email's listed here, jennie.pink@mephone.org.uk ."

"Maybe she forgot it at home?"

The hybrid shook his head.

"She would have needed that phone to send information from the press conference to her work as soon as she got it. Speed is crucial in media. The chances of her having forgotten her phone is close to zero."

Sherlock pulled out his own phone from his pocket and quickly tapped out a message, speaking as he typed.

"And that's not 'rache'. She was most likely trying to write Rachel. You should ask her family if she knew anyone named Rachel."

Sally rolled her eyes while Lestrade stared at the photos for a few seconds before looking over at John. The doctor shrugged, not knowing what he could add. It wasn't like he had done this before, and he has no idea what Sherlock was up to.

Sighing, Lestrade told Sally to call up some of Jennifer's family and acquaintances and see if they knew of a Rachel. The woman gave an incredulous look to the DI before throwing her hands up and stomping out the door.

"Who are you texting?" John asked Sherlock, trying to peek over his shoulder to see the message.

"Her phone. We need to find it," the hybrid replied as he clicked send.

John frowned, thinking, "Maybe she dropped it somewhere?"

Sherlock looked at him and shrugged, flicking his tail as if he didn't know, but John caught a glint in his eyes that the hybrid had an idea where the phone might be.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone started ringing making everyone jump. Sherlock glanced at the number but ignored it, letting it ring through.

"Who...was that?" Lestrade ventured to ask in the silence that followed.

"I wrote a text to Jennifer Wilson's phone telling whoever it was that I had blacked out in the alley and couldn't remember anything. If an innocent person had picked up that phone, they would have ignored the text, but the killer...the killer thinking he had botched the murder would panic."

"You texted the murderer?!" John and Lestrade yelled at the same time, just as the door to the office slammed open revealing Sally.

"Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's daughter, she was stillborn actually several years ago."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

"Her stillborn daughter? Why would she write her name before she died?"

"Maybe in her last minutes she was thinking about her daughter? I mean, the kills were made to look like suicides, right? So maybe the killer talks to the victims, uses something in their past against them, and then they take the poison themselves? It didn't look like she put up much of a struggle," John offered.

"But that doesn't make sense, thinking about her daughter is one thing, but scratching her name into the dirt, what's the purpose of that?"

The four of them went silent, trying to think, when suddenly, Sherlock's ears flicked and his tail whipped around, almost smacking John in the face.

"OH!! I need a computer!"

The hybrid's eyes were gleaming as he looked at Lestrade, who was startled by the sudden outburst but then hurried to start up a laptop. Sherlock's mouth was smiling like he had found the answer to the greatest mystery on Earth as his tail practically danced behind him. He hopped onto the internet and opened up a website.

"She had a smart phone, going by her email address there. That means we can track it if we log into her account. Her username is the email, and her password would be..."

"Rachel," John supplied as realization dawned on him.

Sherlocked let out a happy little giggle as the computer ding-ed to indicate it had logged in successfully. He pulled up the GPS tracker which showed a map along with the indicator for where the phone was located presently.

"Here you go, detective inspector. I recommend you go and catch this guy before he realizes his mistake in keeping the phone and tosses it somewhere."

Lestrade gaped at Sherlock until Sally came up behind him and gave him a push.

"Uhh yeah! Yeah, let's go! Donovan, get the others!"

The two of them raced out of the room leaving John and Sherlock alone. The hybrid stretched with a happy sigh, bounding up to John with a proud look in his eyes.

"Was that OK? Was that good, John?"

The doctor was still in semi-shock and could only stare. Did Sherlock just solve a Scotland Yard case in minutes? Was that what happened?

"How...how did you know all that? Smart phones and GPS, you didn't even know how to turn a laptop on a few weeks ago!"

Sherlock grinned and hugged John.

"Research. I've been researching. That internet thing is really useful."

John chuckled in Sherlock's arms, feeling kind of like a ragged doll as the enthusiastic hybrid hopped around with the doctor in his arms. Talk about soaking up information like a sponge.

"But wait, the victim tried writing the password to her phone account, she knew the phone would lead the police to her killer?" John asked as he and Sherlock left the office and started to leave. No point hanging around now, Lestrade will call if he needs anything else from them.

"I think she planted it on him. She was at the news conference about the serial suicides, she knew the police were suspicious they might have been murders. When she realized she was trapped, she left the phone on the killer and gave us the password hoping we'd figure out how to track it."

John shook his head in amazement, looking at his hybrid with wonder.

"Brilliant, absolutely amazing. And you know, if it weren't for you, maybe the police wouldn't have figured it out, which would have meant more victims. Sherlock, do you realize? You helped catch a killer and saved people!"

"Not yet, the police still haven't caught him yet," but the hybrid couldn't help the blush that spread over his cheeks at the praise, latching onto John's arm.

Outside, the weather was cloudy, a breeze blowing through the streets. John thought for a minute and started leading Sherlock down the one of the smaller roads.

"There's a good doughnut shop this way."

Sherlock's tail flicked about behind him feeling incredibly proud. He had helped, he had done something good. John was happy with him, John was PROUD of him. The thoughts circled in his mind over and over, always coming back to the image of his owner looking at him in amazement and pride. Yes, that look, he wanted to see it more on John's face. He wanted to make John proud, he can be useful, he can help. He was no good at physical prowess, his body wasn't trained for fights, but this he can do. He will train his brain to be the best. Sherlock felt determination grip him as he looked at his owner, yes, for John he will do it.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER 6 END**

Thank you for reading!! All comments, reviews, suggestions and kudos adored as always!! <3

No cabbie chase here, I left the actual capture of the killer up to Scotland Yard this time since it's Sherlock's first case.  Plus kitty Sherlock isn't exactly dying for distraction like Sherlock in the show, so no show-down between him and Mr. Evil Cabbie.  But at least we got a kiss!!  :D  I'm contemplating turning up the heat for the next chapter, you know, with John and Sherlock high from solving the case and all, plus they just swapped saliva in the morning...so...maybe...*grin*.  Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	7. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock share their first time together, but it's not quite what Sherlock had expected (thankfully).

 

Sherlock was clearly thrilled at having solved a case that had stumped Scotland Yard and John rode along on his ecstasy. While they were at the doughnut shop Lestrade texted John to let him know they had caught the killer, a cabbie who targeted unsuspecting passengers. They had found him in possession of both Jennifer Wilson's phone and the poison he had forced his victims to take. Lestrade asked if they wanted to be at the press conference when they revealed they had caught the killer, but Sherlock waved it away, uninterested in being in the media's spotlight. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of cameras flashing in his face.

John bought his hybrid a dozen doughnuts, regular, glazed, crullers, cream filled, chocolate coated, and watched as Sherlock poked and prodded, and sniffed them.

He nibbled on the glazed one, mewling as he realized it got all over his fingers. John found he couldn't quite manage to avert his eyes when Sherlock's tongue poked out to lick the sugar from the digits, suddenly remembering what had happened in the flat that morning. He licked his lips and took a hurried drink from his coffee, coughing as the hot liquid burned. Sherlock looked at him, amused, before he reached across the table and picked up the drink, blowing over the top to cool it as John had did for him before. It seemed such an odd gesture for someone to do for him and John broke out in laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. He scooted his chair around the table so he sat beside Sherlock and leaned over to kiss his cheek. The two sat there taste testing the doughnuts, before packing up the ones they couldn't finish to go.

By the time they reached home, it was late afternoon. Sherlock changed out of his clothes into his pajamas, preferring the soft fabric to the button up shirt and dress pants. He puttered around the living room, taking books off the shelves before settling in one of the armchairs to read. John noted he had chosen a bunch of his old medical textbooks and wondered if Sherlock could actually understand all the terms, but then if he didn't John figured he could easily look them up on the internet. John sat down at the table and opened his laptop, prepared to write about their adventure today on his blog. His therapist had been nagging at him to write one and John had found he had nothing to write about. After getting Sherlock, he had been too busy to think about it anymore, but today was a day he definitely wanted to keep a record of.

John's phone rang just as he started typing and he saw it was from Lestrade. Wondering what the DI would want, he answered.

"John Watson."

"Hey, Dr. Watson, DI Lestrade. Just calling to let you know that we caught the guy, you probably saw my text already."

"Yeah, yeah, great news. Nasty business though, cabbie going after passengers."

"Yeah, well I told my boss we got some help from some civilians and he said it would only be proper to give a reward. So you and Sherlock have a few hundred pounds coming your way, we can send a cheque by post if that's OK? I still got your address from yesterday."

"Oh! Wow, that's awfully generous, yes, the post will be fine. I'll let Sherlock know, thank you."

"Oh, by the way, that hybrid of yours, Sherlock, he's quite a useful one. You mind if we run some other cases by him sometime? You know, just to get a fresh pair of eyes. He's got a sense for details it seems."

John looked over at Sherlock who still had his nose buried in a book. He placed a hand over the speaker of the phone and was about to ask Sherlock what he thought when the hybrid's ears twitched.

"I have no problems looking over other cases for Lestrade if you're OK with it, John."

The short haired man blinked. Was Sherlock's hearing good enough to hear the other person on the phone?

"Uh...yeah, Sherlock said it would be fine."

"Great! Thanks, Dr. Watson."

As John hung up the phone he ran his eyes over Sherlock, who hadn't moved except an occasional ear twitch.

"How did you know?"

"What? What Lestrade wanted?" Sherlock put the book down and turned to look at him, eyes wide as if it should be obvious, "Why else would he call?"

John put the phone down and smiled.

"Well actually, you're only half right. He also wanted us to know that they're going to give you a reward for helping solve that case. A few hundred pounds he said."

Sherlock blinked, his mouth dropping open. His tail twitched as he processed the information. Him? Getting money? But that was impossible, wasn't it? Hybrids have no other value outside of being pets, how can he get money? Even when he worked at the hybrid house, the money was given to his owner, not him.

"That's...that's not...possible," Sherlock looked confusedly at John, "No, they must have meant you, you're my owner. The money would be for you."

John's breath caught at the look in Sherlock's eyes. He walked over and sat down on the armrest of the chair, leaning over to hug his hybrid.

"Don't be silly. You solved the case, it's your money, Sherlock. You can do whatever you want with it."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I have no use for money, it's yours John. I mean, I owe you for all the things you've given me anyway."

The doctor placed a hand under Sherlock's chin and tilted his head up. He bent his head down and pressed a soft kiss to the hybrid's lips, carding his fingers through the silky curls.

"Sherlock, you don't owe me anything. If you don't want to spend your money, you can save it. Maybe someday there will be something you want to buy."

Sherlock mewled softly, shivering as John's warm breath brushed over his lips. His hands reached up, wrapping around John's neck and pulling him down for another kiss. This time there was no hesitation or reluctance from either of them as their mouths met. John felt Sherlock's tongue once more lapping at his lips and he opened them invitingly, moaning softly when he felt the slick muscle entering his mouth. He sucked gently, pulling out a purr from his hybrid who moved to nip along his lips. His arms tugged at John to sit in the chair as he himself shuffled towards the other side.

John's arms latched around Sherlock's slim waist and with one quick move he slid down into the seat, letting the hybrid straddle his lap. The hybrid leaned forward, pressing his chest flush against his owner's as his fingers started unbuttoning John's shirt. His hips started moving, grinding over the doctor's groin as he mewled with need. Ever since John bought him he hadn't engaged in any sexual activities. That's the longest he's gone without since his last owner bought him. Of course, with his last owner Sherlock hadn't wanted any of it. He loathed it when he was ordered to bend over and prepare himself, the words made him feel ill, but now, he wanted, he actually wanted this. Sherlock actually felt aroused and desired to feel John's hands touching him. Those beautiful, gentle hands that would pet his head and stroke his back, he wanted to feel them everywhere.

The hybrid's movements suddenly jolted John back into reality and he forced himself to pull back, breaking the kiss.

"Sh-Sherlock...stop...stop.."

Immediately, the brunet froze, biting his lip. John had liked it, he could tell. He was a trained bedroom pet, he knew the signs when a person enjoyed something. So why did the man stop him?

Taking a shuddering breath, John opened his eyes and looked at his hybrid. Sherlock looked so utterly vulnerable that the doctor feared one wrong word will break him. He swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts so he doesn't say anything stupid.

"Sherlock...I...we...," John stuttered. Well that was eloquent, he berated himself.

Sherlock cautiously leaned in again and kissed his cheek, peppering the feathery brushes of his lips down towards John's jaw.

"I want to, John, I do. Not for any other reason, just because I want to with you."

Christ, John felt his self control slipping. His eyes looked over Sherlock's face, trying to see if there's any hint that the hybrid's doing this because of a sense of obligation, but all he could see was desire.

“Please...John...please?”

The pleading words sent a flush of heat through the doctor and he closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the chair and taking a deep breath. Sherlock took the change and mouthed over his exposed throat, his fingers continuing to unbutton the older man's shirt.

John's hands clasped over Sherlock's, stopping his movements.

“OK, but let's do this on the bed, yeah?”

Sherlock's eyes lit up and he nodded, smiling. He pulled back and got off of John, who heaved himself out of the armchair. Sherlock grabbed his owner's hand and tugged him towards the bedroom while John followed, trying to clear his head enough to think. This is going to be their first time, and given everything Sherlock's been through John knew he had to take it slow. He's going to need to make sure Sherlock understands he's not being used, and it's not just about pleasing John.

Entering the bedroom, Sherlock dropped John's hand and quickly shed himself of his pajama shirt before shimmying out of the pants. His movements were well practiced, and he showed no hesitation as he climbed onto the bed, facing the headboard. Without clothes, John could see that the hybrid was semi hard already. The fading sunlight streaming in from the windows cast a beautiful glow over Sherlock's skin, reflecting off his hair and highlighting it. The tag from his collar gleamed when the light hit it at a certain angle and John had to take several deep breaths to calm himself.

The hybrid crawled up on the bed, spreading his knees a little to steady himself as he lowered his torso down, resting on his forearms. He lifted his tail and draped it up over his back, presenting himself as he had been taught. Sherlock looked over at John, clearly expecting the doctor to hop up behind him and get down to business, but instead he found the short haired man's expression flicker from lust to pain within a second.

"Sherlock..."

The soft voice sounded was strained as John approached the bed.

The hybrid felt confused, not understanding what just happened. Why did John's expression change so suddenly? His ears twitched as he blinked, suddenly realizing that maybe John didn't have lubrication? And maybe the doctor didn't want to take him dry?

"John? Did you want me to prepare myself? I can do that."

Even as he said that, Sherlock started moving his fingers to his mouth.

John flew into action, lunging forward and grabbing Sherlock's wrist to stop him. He felt tears well up as he realized that to Sherlock, sex had probably never been something for him to enjoy, just something for his owner to take from him. That was what he had been offering to John, the opportunity to use his body for pleasure. The doctor swallowed back the fireball of emotions inside, forcing himself to focus back on the present situation.

"Sherlock, no...not like this..."

The hybrid lifted up from the bed a bit, looking more and more confused.

"Oh...um, do you want me in a different position? Or if you want my mouth, that's OK too."

John leaned down and crushed his lips against Sherlock's, just to get him to stop talking. Those heartbreaking words stated with the earnest desire behind Sherlock's eyes to please.

Gently, John nudged Sherlock until the hybrid rolled over onto his back. He climbed onto the bed, not breaking the kiss. His hands ran softly over the hybrid's torso, fingers stroking over his sides, up over the ribcage, then lightly over the nipples. Sherlock squeaked at the touch, the sound muffled by John's mouth. The doctor pulled back just a bit, looking down into the hybrid's hooded eyes.

"Sherlock...I want you to forget everything you know about sex...forget it all. Just focus on how you feel. Tell me how you feel, if you like it, don't like it, want more, or if you want me to stop. Tell me if you want me to stop at any time, OK?"

The hybrid mewled uncertainly. Well that hadn't been part of his training, but if it was what John wanted...

"O-OK, um...that felt good...when you touched my nipples...I liked it."

John gave him an encouraging smile as he leaned down and ran his tongue along one of Sherlock's collar bones. He brushed his fingers over his hybrid's little nubs once more, feeling them harden under his touch.

"Yeah?"

Sherlock gave a startled yelp, his head falling back against the pillows. Oh that felt lovely, like little rivers of pleasure pulsing through him.

"Ooh...J-John...feels..good..."

John smiled against him and kissed his way down. Gently, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking on the pinkish bud and running his tongue over it.

Sherlock was panting under him, his hands coming up to cup the back of the doctor's head. His long, slender fingers ran through John's hair, instinctively trying to keep him there.

Slowly, John moved to the other nipple, one of his hands sliding under Sherlock, between him and the bed. As he ran the tip of his tongue around the sensitive nub, John rubbed his hand at the base of Sherlock's tail. The hybrid arched up, fingers suddenly clenching in John's hair almost painfully. The doctor gave a startled moan at the sudden pull on his scalp and immediately Sherlock pulled his hands away.

"J-John, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."

The doctor swiped his tongue over the nipple once more before lifting his head to meet the hybrid's slightly panicked gaze.

"Shh, shh, you didn't do anything wrong. It's all right, Sherlock."

The hybrid's cheeks were flushed pink and his hair was a mess. His eyes were glazed over, mouth open and breathing heavily.

"That...that felt really good."

John grinned and moved up, kissing his lips and nipping at them gently.

"Yeah? What about..this?"

As he said the last word, John's hand sneaked down the hybrid's lean body and cupped over his erection. Sherlock's hips bucked, pushing up against John's hand as his eyes widened. John's fingers wrapped around the hardened member and gave it a firm stroke from the base to the tip. Sherlock's legs fell open as his head thrashed, hands fisting the bed sheets desperately.

"G-good...oh, god...John...please.."

It was beautiful, and John repeated the action wanting to see it again. Sherlock's moans and gasps grew louder and louder as John brought him close to the edge. The hybrid felt a hot, burning need in his groin seeking to be released. He's felt it before, of course, but this was so much more intense, and knowing John's eyes were on him as he comes so undone made the burning so much more pleasurable.

Just before he felt himself being pushed over the edge, John's hand stopped. Sherlock mewled in protest, thrusting his hips and trying to get that delicious feeling back. The doctor smiled, happy to see that Sherlock's enjoying himself. He shuffled down and settled himself between the hybrid's legs. Sherlock was trying to catch his breath and didn't even notice, so when he suddenly felt John's hot, wet mouth slipping around the head of his cock his eyes flew open. The slim hips tried to thrust up off the bed, but John's hands kept them down, not wanting to choke. He sucked at the tip, tasting the salty pre-come and moaning. It's been a while since he had done this for someone, but the sounds Sherlock was making are so bloody gorgeous he was determined to hear more.

John's own cock strained against his trousers, screaming for attention and the doctor slipped a hand down, undoing the fly to at least relieve some of the pressure. Digging his hand into his pants, the doctor grabbed his own cock and stroked it, while his mouth moved over Sherlock's member. The hybrid writhed and squirmed under him, his nerves shooting spark after spark of pleasurable fire throughout his body. John relaxed his throat and took Sherlock in as far as he could, sucking hard. His hand squeezed tightly around his own cock, mimicking the actions of his mouth and he groaned around Sherlock's cock. The vibrations of the doctor's throat causes the hybrid to shudder and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back.

"J-John!! Pl-please...can I come?! Please, please...!"

Surprised at the sudden request for permission, John hurriedly pulled his head up so he can talk. He wanted to tell the hybrid he didn't need to ask for permission, but Sherlock was clearly too far gone to process much thoughts, so he kept it short and to the point.

"Yes, Sherlock, come, let me taste you."

His free hand gave Sherlock's cock a firm stroke as he kissed the tip, running his tongue over the slit. The words evaporated any self restraint Sherlock had been using to keep himself back and with a sobbing cry he felt his orgasm wash over him. Every muscle in the slender body contracted, his heart racing as his vision blurred. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut, gasping for air as it felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. All he could think about was the warmth of John's mouth and the flood of pleasure and relief taking over his body.

John's lips wrapped around Sherlock's cock once more just as his orgasm hit. He felt and tasted the come coating his mouth, swallowing down as best as he could. His hand gave his own cock several hard, firm jerks and it was enough. John moaned, puling away from Sherlock's member and laying his head down on a pale thigh as his own come coated his fingers.

John laid there, panting for a few minutes, dazed by what just happened. Slowly, his brain started working again and he realized Sherlock was trembling, soft, hiccuping sobs being muffled by his hand. Worried, John made his way up beside his hybrid and saw that the blue eyes were reddened with tears. Hurriedly he wiped his hand using the tissues on the bedside table and pulled Sherlock into his arms so the hybrid could tuck himself under John's chin.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Talk to me," the doctor coaxed gently, rubbing his back.

Sherlock buried his face against John, ears pressed flat to his head and tail wrapping around both of them tightly. For a few minutes he didn't say anything, but gradually his crying eased.

"I...It's never felt like that...before. I didn't...it wasn't...I don't know..."

He rubbed at his eyes, wishing the tears would stop.

"I don't know why I'm crying..."

Relieved that he hadn't hurt the hybrid, the older man pressed soft kisses into Sherlock's hair and over his ears, nuzzling the soft fur. The hybrid mewled, feeling so safe and satisfied in his owner's arms. It had never been like this before. Usually he was always relieved when he felt the person taking him reach orgasm, it meant it was over and he could have a break. Never did anyone actually take him into their mouth, he was a pet, he was filthy, owners didn't do those things for their pets. But John hadn't hesitated at all, he had even allowed Sherlock to come in his mouth. Sherlock felt tired, but so utterly relaxed in the afterglow of his orgasm, and through none of it did he feel any pain at all.

"Shh...it's OK, Sherlock, it's OK," John cooed to his hybrid, wiping away the tears on his cheeks.

"John?" The hybrid's soft voice whispered.

"Hm?"

"I...I really liked that. It's never felt so good before...can we do it again later?"

John chuckled and peered down at his hybrid, kissing his forehead.

"Of course. And next time you don't have to ask for permission to come, Sherlock, OK? You never need permission for that."

Sherlock nodded and snuggled down, breathing in John's scent. The whole room smelled like them, like sex, and for once Sherlock didn't shudder at it.

After a while, John shifted and looked down, grimacing as his come had covered his pants and trousers earlier. He definitely didn't want to fall asleep in that.

"Give me a minute, going to go change into something more comfortable."

Sherlock nodded and moved back a bit to allow John to get off the bed. The doctor hurried into the bathroom and shed his clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket. Then, he quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face before wiping himself down with a wet towel. Feeling more refreshed, John was just about to take another towel into the bedroom for his hybrid when Sherlock came in. His hair was sticking up in all directions and John laughed, running his fingers through it to try and smooth it down. Sherlock's ears twitched as he caught sight of himself in the mirror and laughed along. He took his own toothbrush and brushed his teeth too, splashing some water on his face to freshen up. John ran his fingers over Sherlock's tail, playing with the tip. Sherlock dried his face and flicked his tail, wrapping it around John's wrist to pull him closer. The two shared a minty kiss that had Sherlock's tail swishing around behind him happily. When they finally pulled apart, Sherlock had a contemplative look on his face.

"John? I was thinking...I'd...I'd like to buy a laptop, my own laptop with the money from Scotland Yard. If it's OK with you."

He glanced at the doctor nervously, knowing that a laptop's not exactly a cheap purchase. But it'd be nice not having to hoard John's every time he wanted to do some research.

The older man looked pleasantly surprised and smiled.

"Oh, that's a good idea. With that brilliant brain of yours, a laptop would definitely be convenient. We'll go shop for one once the cheque gets here, yeah?"

Sherlock smiled in reply, ears twitching as he realized he was going to have something of his own. Bought with money he earned himself. The feeling was surprisingly good and he wrapped his long arms around John, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, John!"

The doctor laughed as Sherlock practically twirled him around.

"Should we go make some dinner then? We can have the doughnuts we brought home for dessert."

Sherlock mewled in agreement as the two headed back into the bedroom to put some clothes on, both feeling quite delighted. John made a mental note to buy Mike a round of drinks the next time they're out together, because he really owed his friend a big thank you for dragging him out to that market place on his birthday. He couldn't remember a time he had felt quite so thrilled and looking forward to the future.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 7 END** _

Thanks for reading!!  As always, comments, reviews, suggestions and kudos are loved like John loves Sherlock <3

Uh...yeah...so, I should go and change the rating.  *Runs away.*

 


	8. The Laptop and The Drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets his own laptop, and John learns about Sherlock's history with drugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so many lovely comments. Thank you all so much!! Someone made the suggestion that consistently calling Sherlock "the hybrid" was distracting, and somewhat degrading. I agree, so in this chapter I tried using other ways to refer to him. I hope it worked, if you have any suggestions for other ways we can refer to Sherlock, please let me know! I'm running out of ideas OTL

  
Sherlock was thrilled when they finally went down to the electronics store to buy him his laptop. He flitted from model to model, comparing the pros and cons. John followed at a much more subdued pace, leisurely checking out a few, just to see what was on the market these days. These things changed and updated far too quickly for him to keep up, and really, he just needed something he can get online so he can check emails and update his blog. By now he had written a few entries, all of them regarding Sherlock. Lestrade had been by the flat once or twice, dropping off cold case files in the hopes that the hybrid could spot some new clues. Sherlock worked through them like lightening, sometimes solving several within one day. It was amazing, and John was starting to wonder if maybe the tall hybrid's DNA hadn't been messed with to make him more attuned to details.

Lestrade had been skeptical at first, but as the number of solved cases started stacking up, he started believing Sherlock's word more and more. With each case solved, the DI was allowed to give Sherlock a few hundred pounds. Technically it was paid under John's name since hybrids weren't allowed any financial independence, but the doctor always gave it to Sherlock, insisting that since he was the one doing the work, he deserved to get paid for it. The doctor had run into a problem trying to open a bank account for the tall hybrid, it was simply not done. After some heated negotiating with the bank, John managed to open an account with himself as the co-signer, giving Sherlock the main title over the account. If the brunet wanted to take out more than 2,000 pounds he needed John's consenting signature, but any amount below that and he was free to deposit or withdraw as he wished. So now Scotland Yard could deposit the money directly into the account, and for once in his life, Sherlock felt like he was really working, getting paid for working, doing something that he could feel proud about.

As Sherlock became more engaged during the days with the cases, John quietly began looking for a job for himself too. He hoped that as Sherlock found something to occupy his time he'd be more receptive to the thought of John going out a few days a week to work. He can start slow, maybe just part time somewhere, and once Sherlock gets used to the idea he can work a little more. With his military pension subsidizing his living, and now Sherlock getting some money of his own, it wasn't like he really needed a lot of money himself.

"John, look at this one!"

Sherlock had stopped in front of one of the displays, fingers running along the smooth surface. The doctor walked over to see, feeling slightly out of place. He couldn't be much help here, Sherlock probably knew more about these machines than he did even though the brunet had only started using them a short while ago.

"It looks good," John offered, unsure what else to say.

"Yes, it runs on Windows 8.1, has a 750 gigabyte hard drive, with an 8 gigabyte memory. Has all the usual functions of course, HDMI output, Bluetooth, DVD, CD and Blue-ray player. Oh, it looks like they're giving away a free wireless mouse with it too! "

John nodded along, looking over the machine. It did look nice, sleek, black, matte.

"OK, is that the one you want? Or we can go look at some other shops."

Sherlock shook his head and almost hugged the laptop to himself.

"This one, I was looking for this one. I...I researched online before coming today."

John chuckled, of course Sherlock would have researched. He was more thorough than any person John knew and really the doctor shouldn't have been surprised.

"All right, let me just get a sales clerk then...," the short haired man looked around and waved over a young man. He was just about to tell him which laptop they wanted when he thought better of it. Instead, John stepped behind Sherlock and gave him a nudge forward, urging him to do the talking. The man looked friendly enough, although he blinked seeing Sherlock, but there was no negativity in his expression.

"Uh, yes? How may I help you today?"

Sherlock fumbled for words, suddenly faced with a stranger and he glanced behind him frantically at John. The doctor gave him an encouraging smile, and gently placed a hand at the small of the brunet's back, silently giving him support.

"Uhm...uh...this...this laptop. Please...um, I'd like to buy it."

Sherlock's tail flicked nervously, his cheeks flushing red. Even though he towered over the sales clerk he couldn't meet the man's eyes.

"Oh, certainly. This one here, right? OK, please wait a moment, I'll go get one from the stock room."

The young man flashed another smile at Sherlock and at John before he walked away to fill their request. As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, ears flattening against his head. John pulled him down and kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair.

"That was good, you did good, Sherlock. See? No different than talking to me or Lestrade, you can do it."

The brunet leaned against the doctor, huffing.

"It's difficult...talking to humans normally. I feel like they're always staring...at my ears, my tail, wondering why I'm not on the floor."

John nodded in understanding, hugging Sherlock.

"I know, I'm sorry. But you know, Sherlock, let them wonder. The people that matter, the people that are worth your time, they won't care."

Sherlock mewled and waved his tail, looking around the shop. There were a few customers mingling around, some had hybrids with them. One or two stared openly at Sherlock, most of the others taking curious glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking. There was one other hybrid walking upright behind her owner, but she was leashed. Sherlock couldn't help thinking that they were all probably judging John too, and that thought made him bristle.

Before they could continue, the clerk came back, holding a box.

"Here we are. This is actually our last one in stock, you're in luck. Is there anything else I can help you find?"

Sherlock shook his head, feeling excited to get home and set up his new laptop.

"OK, well if you'll come with me then I'll show you to the checkouts."

John and Sherlock shared a smile as they took each other's hand and followed. At the register, the young man put them through himself, ringing up the purchase. Sherlock felt a bit daunted handling money, but it also gave him a sense of power. He could buy things, things he liked, things he enjoyed. When it was all done, the brunet picked up the box proudly and headed out, looking slightly dazed as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. John chuckled, noting the way the slender fingers gripped the box so tightly the tips turned white. He never realized the power in being able to purchase things, but clearly Sherlock was more than aware.

John waved down a cab and the two scooted in. Even when the driver asked if they wanted to put the box in the trunk Sherlock shook his head emphatically, hugging it to his chest. His, all his. John sat back in his seat and let his eyes roam over the tall hybrid. His blue eyes darted over the text on the box, reading the information, his finger tracing over the picture of the laptop on the front. The tip of Sherlock's tail flicked back and forth eagerly and John knew tonight he wasn't going to be able to drag the happy hybrid from his new toy for anything.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

At the flat, Sherlock immediately set up a space on the table, across from John's laptop for himself. Placing the box on the floor he opened it like an excited child. Carefully, he lifted the machine, peeling away the layers of protective wrapping. For a minute the brunet just stared, then he lifted his eyes up to where John was watching him.

"It's...mine? It's all mine?"

The doctor knelt down beside him and gently kissed his lips, one of his hands coming up to cup the brunet's cheek.

"Yes, Sherlock. All yours. You can password protect it so no one else can get in."

The slender tail whisked about excitedly as he placed the machine on the table and went about setting it up. John smiled to himself and headed for the kitchen to make them some tea. He wished he had taken some photos of Sherlock with his new laptop for his blog, it really was an adorable image. John wondered if he had been the same when he bought something with his first paycheck, had he been so ecstatic? Maybe, but he can't even remember it anymore.

Flicking the kettle switch to on, he waited for it to boil, taking out two tea cups and putting some biscuits on a plate. After this John had some emails to reply to. A few of the places he had sent resumes had responded, asking for an interview and he'll have to break the news to Sherlock. Hopefully with his focus on his new toy, the brunet won't become as flustered as he did the last time John brought up the idea of looking for a job. Sherlock should be OK by himself at home by now, but if he needed to go out while John wasn't here...

The doctor felt slightly concerned at that thought. The blue-eyed hybrid hadn't been outside yet without John by his side, would he be OK on his own? At the shop today he was clearly nervous, they'll have to work on that and get Sherlock used to being out and about on his own.

A few minutes later, the doctor placed a cup of tea beside Sherlock, peering over his shoulder at the screen. He had already hooked the laptop up to the internet and was browsing a website, something related to biochemistry. John caught sight of a few diagrams of cells which reminded him of his time back in high school.

"What's this?"

Sherlock's ear flicked and he glanced at John.

"I'm checking the effect of certain drugs on the human body as compared to hybrids. It appears most hybrids have a higher metabolism than humans, so we generally need a higher dosage to get the same results."

"Oh...is this for a case?"

The brown curls bounced as Sherlock shook them.

"No, just curious. My last owner sometimes had drugs at his parties and sometimes he'd give them to the hybrids, but it never had the same effect. I just always wondered why."

John looked at Sherlock, frowning.

"Drugs? Illegal drugs? Did he make you take them too?"

The brunet nodded, looking up at John.

"Yeah, a few times. Mostly cocaine injections. Especially at the beginning when I still fought him every time he tried to take me. He said it made me more agreeable and easier to handle. He gave me something else too although I don't know what it was. It was a pill, he'd mix it in my drinks and I'd feel dizzy but really relaxed, and often I couldn't remember what happened the next day."

John froze, his mind going over the lists of drugs he had to remember for med school. That description sounded familiar, too familiar.

"Do you remember if there was any marks or words on the pills?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, closing his eyes as he tried to pull up his memories. One time he had gotten curious and stolen one to check. It hadn't smelled like anything, and it didn't have any particular taste when he had licked it, but there was something on the pill.

"Yes...there was a line across one side, and the other side had some letters...um...R-A-C-H? Or maybe R-O-C-H?"

The doctor felt his blood run cold. He had seen those pills during his university days. Some of his mates used it on themselves for a quick high, and the little white tablets were notorious for being used in date rapes

"R-O-C-H-E maybe? Do a search for Rohypnol, Sherlock."

Slim fingers tapped the name into his computer and pulled up several results, some including photos of the little white pill.

"Oh! Yes, this was it, this was what he used. They were nice, I didn't know what was happening when he used it, and I usually didn't remember so it was like it never happened."

John really didn't know what to say to that. Rohypnol was a prescription drug in the UK and if Sherlock's owner had obtained it through legitimate means then it wasn't illegal for him to be in possession of it. It was a crime, of course, to drug someone without their consent, but what about hybrids? Not to mentioned it sounded like Sherlock took it willingly.

"Can we buy these too? Do they sell them in the shops?"

Sherlock's curious voice jolted John back and his eyes flickered from the computer to the brunet's face. Gently, he stroked his fingers through the soft hair, turning the hybrid's attention back to him.

"Sherlock...Rohypnol's a dangerous drug, as is cocain. If you take them regularly they cause addiction. It's not OK that your last owner used them on you, it's not OK for anyone to use these drug for any purpose other than medical reasons...and cocaine isn't even legalized here so mere possession is a crime."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he pursed his lips. Unconsciously, his hand rubbed at the bent near his inner elbow where he had been injected with the cocaine. He remembered those days, it had actually been quite a relief when he saw his owner bringing out the syringe because it meant he couldn't feel the pain as badly, and whatever happened while he was under the influence he could forget it as a bad dream.

"B-but...it felt good, John. It did, and I didn't hurt as much when he used them."

John reached his arms out and pulled Sherlock into a hug, cradling his head against his stomach.

"I know...I know, that's also why a lot of people use them on themselves too. It feels good and for a while they can forget, but the consequences are very bad, Sherlock. If you get hooked onto them, they can destroy you."

The short haired man placed a hand under Sherlock's chin and lifted his head so their eyes could meet.

"Promise me you won't take them again...please, Sherlock."

The triangular ears drooped a bit, but Sherlock nodded.

"I won't take them again, John, I promise."

He buried his face against the older man's tummy, rubbing at the soft fabric of his shirt.

"I don't need them now, anyway, nothing hurts when I'm with you."

John smiled sadly, thinking once again that Sherlock had gone through so much in his life already. Things that horrified John the other seemed to simply take in stride, and things that John took as a given Sherlock found such great joy in. His arms wrapped tighter around the brunet as he felt a sense of protectiveness wash through him. John will make sure Sherlock never goes back to his old life again, he'll fight tooth and nail until he's in bloody pieces to make sure of that.

"Good, now drink your tea before it gets cold. I was thinking for dinner tonight we can go out to eat. There's a nice Chinese place down the road, we haven't had any Chinese yet, have we?"

Sherlock's tail waved with interest, climbing to kneel on the seat of the chair so he was about the same height as John. The slender appendage wrapped around the doctor's waist and pulled him close so that Sherlock could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Chinese food, with chopsticks? Do people really eat with those sticks? Will we get fortune cookies too? I read about those, they have fortunes inside, don't they?"

John laughed at the flood of questions as his hands went around the slender waist. He tilted his head a bit and slotted his mouth against Sherlock's, muffling any further words. Gently, the older man slipped his tongue into the other's warm mouth, licking over the inside of his cheeks and tickling the roof. Sherlock mewled and pressed closer, sucking hungrily on John's tongue. His hands smoothed over the doctor's back, feeling the muscles under the shirt.

When they finally broke apart, both parties were breathing hard. Sherlock laid his head down against John's shoulder, eyes hooded, feeling the pleasant chemicals in his mind giving everything a hazy glow.

"John?...I...I like you...a lot. More than anyone else I've ever met," the kiss swollen lips murmured.

The doctor felt a pleasant warmth corkscrew down his spine at the words and he petted Sherlock's hair, kissing his ears.

"I like you too, Sherlock. You're the most interesting person I know."

Sherlock's ears twitched but he didn't move.

"Hybrid, John, not a person."

The older man furrowed his eyebrows and turned his head a little so he can see Sherlock's face.

"Hm...no, you're more than that, Sherlock. Not just a hybrid..."

For a moment John found himself at a loss for words. What was Sherlock to him? Not just a hybrid, and definitely not a pet. A friend, a confidante, someone he can laugh and talk with, enjoy time together and share his life with...

"My partner...you're my partner, Sherlock."

The blue eyes gazed up at him and John felt the vibrations of a purr. The two stayed there, just enjoying each other's company until the sun set, long after the tea had gone cold.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 8 END** _

Thank you for reading!! And as always comments, reviews and kudos adored~! <3

My knowledge about drugs is very limited.  I did a bit of research for this, but not too much (*worships Wikipedia*). If I got anything wrong please let me know.  

I realize in the show Sherlock has a MacBook, but those are so much more expensive than a PC laptop.  I think for kitty Sherlock he wouldn't get such expensive laptops on his first go, so I had him go with a PC laptop for now.

 


	9. The Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reveals he had a brother named Mycroft.

 

It was immensely satisfying for John as he observed Sherlock trying to manipulate the chopsticks. The short haired man had long given up on attempting the feat and settled for a fork and spood, but Sherlock was determined to triumph over the little sticks. He had written down instructions from the internet, and even searched up some video tutorials on how to master them, but watching and using were clearly very different.

John stifled another laugh as Sherlock tried unsuccessfully for the fourth time to get a chicken ball into his mouth. He growled at his plate, glaring. The doctor speared one of his own chicken balls and held it out for Sherlock to eat. The cat ears flicked but the brunet reluctantly took a bite. John was already halfway through his plate, but Sherlock's was still barely touched.

"How are those people doing it? I don't understand," Sherlock grumbled, eyeing the other customers in the restaurant. Most of them seemed to have little problems with the utensils.

"Sherlock, are you sure you don't want a fork? You don't have to learn the art of chopsticks use."

The sleek tail twitched and Sherlock's mouth thinned into a stubborn line.

"I can learn it, billions of people use these, I can learn it too."

A soft, high pitched giggle rang out from the table beside them and the two looked over. They were being watched by a young girl, no older than seven or eight years old. She sat with her family, but it looked like she had finished eating already, so instead she was nibbling on her fortune cookie.

Sherlock's tail flicked, unsure how to react. He didn't really have much experience dealing with kids.

The girl hopped off her chair and strode over, eyeing the cat ears and tail curiously. She reached out a hand and tentatively petted the tip of Sherlock's tail, who kept still. More confident, the girl stroked the soft fur and smiled up at him.

"It's pretty, your ears and tail. They look like my kitty's. I wish I had them too."

In the dim light of the restaurant, John saw Sherlock's face flush pink as he blinked at the girl. She pointed at his chopsticks.

"Are you trying to learn how to use them? It's hard. I kept dropping my food at first too. But my mommy showed me a trick."

Reaching up to the table, the girl took the chopsticks and placed one between her thumb and index finger, using the middle finger to balance and manoeuvre the other one

"She said to think of them like an alligator's mouth. See? Open, and close, open and close," she demonstrated with ease, "Here, try it."

Hesitantly, Sherlock took the utensils back and attempted to mimic what he saw the girl do. Eagerly, she took his hand and moved his fingers until they were in the correct position and helped him move the sticks.

"There, see? Not so hard once you get used to it. Just takes some practice."

The tip of Sherlock's tongue peeked out between his lips as he concentrated, watching his fingers force the chopsticks apart, and then back together, then apart again. His face lit up as the movement got easier and he looked over at his plate, testing out his new skill on the chicken ball once more. This time, he succeeded in picking it up on the first try and he let out a little gasp of joy.

John smiled and shook his head at the image they painted, taking a sip of his drink.

"Megan, time to go, come on."

The girl looked back to her family and saw her parents getting ready to leave. They looked over at John and Sherlock with raised eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

"I have to go," she told them, but her eyes darted up to Sherlock's ears, looking at them longingly. The brunet bent down so she could reach and Megan giggled again, petting the furry triangles.

"Good luck, Mr. Kitty!" Satisfied, she hurried back to her parents and left with a wave.

John and Sherlock watched her leave before the doctor broke out in laughter. Sherlock smiled too, rubbing at his own ears where Megan had touched. He looked down at his chopsticks and tried again, remembering what he had been taught. It was still a little awkward, but he had a much easier time than before. At least now he managed to get the food to his mouth.

"Well, it looks like her lesson worked," John commented, continuing to eat his own food.

Sherlock nodded and started eating too, he'll have to figure out how to work these chopsticks around the rice, but one step at a time.

"She was...nice. She said my ears and tail were pretty," Sherlock contemplated, almost speaking to himself.

"Yes, and she's right. Your ears and tail are lovely," John replied, his own eyes gazing across the table.

Sherlock took a few bites, thinking.

"You like them too, John? My ears and tail?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows, "Well, they're soft, and beautiful, and they match your hair. It also feels nice when your tail wraps around me, kind of like holding hands with someone. Don't you like them?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No, I don't. They are the easiest way for humans to identify me as a hybrid. I have...had a brother, he hated his ears and tail so much he found an underground surgeon and had them removed."

John was startled at this new information and his eyes widened.

"You had a brother? What happened to him?"

The brunet shrugged as if he didn't care.

"I only knew he was my brother because we were kept in the same cage when we were young. It's just shared DNA, that's all. He was older than me, and mean."

The older man sat back in his seat, trying to digest what he had just learned. Hybrid DNA came from egg and sperm banks, people who needed money would sell their eggs or sperm to these places. Sometimes, you could pay someone to sell you their eggs or sperm if you wanted to make a custom hybrid, but those were costly. From the egg and sperm banks, the eggs were fertilized and placed under observation. If the fertilization was successful, the embryo would then be transferred to a hybrid incubator that acted like a womb, but also allowed scientists to easily inject animal DNA into them to create the hybrids. Siblings were rare, but sometimes it happened.

“Do you know where he is now?” John ventured to ask.

Sherlock shook his head, swallowing some food.

“No. Don't even know if he's alive anymore.  He was bought by some rich family before me, but my first owner, the fashion designer, ran in the elite circles so she and my brother's owners actually met a few times. I saw him once or twice, they called him Mycroft, stupid name. But I heard he ran away after a year or so. I only saw him one more time after that. He sneaked into my owner's house one night while she was out and told me he didn't want anything to do with me anymore. Told me he no longer had a brother. I almost didn't recognize him since by then he had had his ears and tail removed, but he smelled the same. Humans can't differentiate him without the physical characteristics, unless they ran a DNA test on him, so he apparently got himself a job working among humans, but any hybrid would be able to smell it on him.”

The doctor listened to the story, slightly stunned. It was possible for hybrids to remove their animal traits? He had never heard of that before, clearly it would be against the law which was why Sherlock said his brother had gone to an underground surgeon.

“And you never tried contacting him again? Even just to see if he's still alive?”

The brunet's mouth tilted down and he looked away.

“He didn't want anything to do with me, having a hybrid brother would be a clear give away that he's a hybrid too. There was no point in me trying to contact him, I couldn't anyway. I would have needed my owner's permission and I doubt they would have given it to me.”

John bit his lip, he knew about animosity between siblings. He and his own sister, Harriet, didn't exactly have the best relationship, but at least they got together for a reunion once or twice a year. John didn't always agree with her lifestyle, but she was his sister, and he knew he'd care about her regardless of what happened. Sherlock, clearly, felt no attachment for his brother.

“I see. Well, if you ever want to try finding him, or find out what happened to him, feel free. And now you have access to Scotland Yard, so maybe Lestrade can help.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and flatted his ears, indicating without a doubt that he was not interested.

They spent the rest of the meal talking over some cases Sherlock had solved. A missing necklace, a vanishing husband, a string of burglaries. As the waiter took away their empty plates and left them with two fortune cookies, John contemplated if now was a good time to bring up his recent job hunt. Sherlock peeled open the plastic wrapping and sniffed the cookie, holding it up to the light to study it.

“It's OK, John. I don't mind.”

The older man blinked for a second, confused as to what Sherlock was referring to.

“You, looking for a job. I don't mind. I can keep myself busy for a few hours while you're away,” the brunet clarified as he placed the cookie between his hands and cracked it open.

“How did you...?”

“You left your resume open on your laptop this morning. I saw it. You were updating it, obviously getting it ready to be sent out.”

John's mouth was hanging open and he shook his head, realizing that must have been quite an easy thing for Sherlock to have figured out.

“Oh. Uh...yeah, I-I was looking. I mean, if you feel OK with it, I figured since you have the cases to keep you busy...”

Sherlock nodded as he took a nibbling bite out of the cookie, testing the taste.

“Yes, it's fine, John. I'll be OK on my own, now. There's Mrs. Hudson, and if I run into any serious trouble I can always get Lestrade. You've been getting restless around the flat, a job would be good for you instead of constantly babysitting me.”

John reached over the table and placed a hand over Sherlock's.

“Hey, I wasn't 'babysitting' you. You just needed a bit of time to adjust, that's all. And even after I find a job, if you need me home, all you have to do is call me, yeah?”

Curious eyes glanced over the small piece of paper he pulled out from the centre of the cookie as he read over the words.

“Yeah, I know. Or I can message you, like when you go to your therapist,” Sherlock's brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what he read, “John? What does 'There is magic in your smile' mean? That makes no sense.”

John grinned at the random fortune the cookie offered.

“It means when you smile it has...a magical effect, on yourself, on people around you, you know.”

Blue eyes studied the paper before he lifted his head and gave John the biggest smile the doctor had ever seen grace Sherlock's face.

“Is it working? The magic, I mean,” the brunet asked sarcastically.

The doctor burst out laughing.

“I think it is, Sherlock. Do you feel it working?”

The tips of Sherlock's ears twitched at John's laugh and he chuckled too.

“I don't know about magic, but I like making you laugh.”

John's laughter settled into a lopsided grin on his face and he patted Sherlock's hand before standing up.

“Come on, let's go home.”

They took their time heading back to the flat. The evening air felt calming to both of them and when they walked through an area with no streetlights, Sherlock looked up into the sky.

"They're marvelous."

"Hm?"

"The stars, quite beautiful aren't they?"

The doctor looked up too and nodded. In the darkness, the twinkling little specks stood out like glitter on a black canvas. Usually in the city one could only make out a few, the really bright ones, but now he can see that they almost covered the entire sky.

They stood still for a few minutes, just looking. John's hand slipped into Sherlock's and for a moment he felt like he was on some sappy, romantic date. Usually he had little patience for these things, smelling the flowers, gazing at stars, they all seemed totally pointless to him. Yet right now something about the expression of awe on Sherlock's face made him appreciate the view much more than he remembered. Had the clever hybrid ever even had the chance to look at the stars before? Did he ever sit by a window trying to find the constellations only to growl in frustration as all those damn sparkles looked the same? It was hard to imagine.

Sherlock unconsciously moved closer to the doctor, committing the view memory. With a quiet sigh, he started walking again with John at his side. He peeked over at the other man, his sharp eyes picking up details that humans would miss in the darkness. Maybe he can convince John to switch some of their afternoon walks to the evening, it was calmer now, quieter, and there wasn't as much stimulation assaulting his senses, demanding his attention.

 

Back at the flat, the pair watched some telly to pass the time. Sherlock picked out a channel showing a documentary on African animals, leaning forward in his seat as his eyes glued to the cheetahs chasing down gazelles. His tailed flicked quickly, and John detected a low growl in his throat as the gazelle leaped in twists and turns, trying to throw the predator off its tail. The doctor was much more amused watching Sherlock than the show, it seemed watching other big cats was bringing out the feline instinct in the brunet and he almost laughed out loud when Sherlock let out a soft whine when he saw the lion cubs play fighting. Defined cheeks flushed pink when Sherlock realized what he was doing and he dove into John's chest, burying his face against the plaid shirt.

"It's in my genes, I can't help it," he complained, pursing his lips.

John pulled the tall hybrid into his lap, smiling fondly as he ran his fingers over the soft ears.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it! I could hear you thinking!"

The short haired man gave the bundle in his arms an amused look although he didn't deny the accusation.

By the end of the show, John was already starting to nod off. He jerked awake when he felt a tug on his shirt and found Sherlock standing over him, already changed into his pajamas.

"You'll feel sore if you fall asleep like that."

The doctor yawned, stretched and wobbled to his feet.

"Right, bed. Time for bed."

Sherlock followed, waiting in the bedroom as John got changed and washed up. He sat on the bed, leaning against the pillows as he surfed the internet on his phone. John had shown him how to start his own blog and Sherlock tapped out an entry, writing about his new laptop.

By the time John came into the bedroom, it was already half past midnight and they both snuggled down into the covers. Sherlock wiggled his way until he felt John's chin resting on his head. He liked sleeping in this position the best, when the older man wrapped his arms around him, all of Sherlock's senses became surrounded by John. He could feel and hear the man's heartbeat in his chest, feel his soft breath breeze over his ears, the protective arms holding him close, it kept the nightmares away.

 

**~*~*~**

  
Unfortunately, for Sherlock, a good night's sleep was not in store for him. Through the fog of sleep the brunet found a familiar scene playing out before him in his mind. He was much younger, eyes still wide and lively with innocence as he stared out of his cage. He was naked except for a collar with a tag, stating his number, 74-37H. They were given names at birth for the sake of their birth certificate, but no one referred to them by the names since their owners would give them new ones. Instead they were assigned numbers.

A well dressed and clearly wealthy family stood around, inspecting his brother, whose own tag sported the number 69-27H . The elder hybrid couldn't be coaxed into kneeling, so he stood, nose high in the air as the mother checked his ears and teeth.

"Are you sure this is the one you want, Henry? He looks high maintenance. How about the younger one?" Her big, green eyes glanced over to Sherlock making his older brother growl.

"But mommy, I want this one!" The young boy, Henry, complained, pulling on his mom's hand, "He looks smarter!"

Sherlock was anxious as he watched, listening to the conversation. Would they take his brother away? He didn't always get along with his brother, but in here, with the elder hybrid, he at least had someone to confide in. If they took him away then he'd be all alone. He whined softly, the sound reaching his older brother's ears and making them flick. He turned and gave his younger brother a glance, his expression blank. Sherlock gripped the bars of his cage, reaching a hand out to try and grab his brother, but the hybrid ignored him.

FInally, the father and mother agreed on the pet for their little boy and put a collar around him, handing the leash to the ecstatic Henry. Sherlock panicked, growling in his cage and trying to shake the bars.

"No! No!! Brother! Don't go!"

A stick slammed against the cage making Sherlock fall back. The owner appeared, baton in hand as he glared at the younger Holmes.

"None of that, be quiet."

Sherlock refused and tried reaching his arm out as far as it could go, his finger tips brushing against his brother's arm.

"Don't go, don't take him, please!! Don't leave me here on my own brother!"

But the elder hybrid just stared at him impassively, pursing his lips. He turned to fully face Sherlock, although he stood out of reach.

"Behave, you're embarrassing yourself. I told you not to get attached, I warned you. You didn't listen. Caring's not an advantage. Stop caring."

It felt like his brother was fading but Sherlock struggled harder, trying to push the cage bars away, trying to get out. He needed to reach, just a bit further. But slowly, the image of the elder hybrid melted into darkness along with his surroundings leaving the brunet in his cage, all alone.

It was pitch black, he couldn't see anything. Sherlock screamed and yelled but there was no reply. He banged on the cage, feeling panic rising. Where was he? What's happening?

"Sherlock."

The stern voice startled the brunet and he whipped around. A man stood outside the cage dressed in a suit, hands in his pockets and staring at him. A man...no...wait, that wasn't a man. He smelled familiar, and as Sherlock looked closer he looked familiar too. The blue eyed hybrid gasped and stumbled back, eyes impossibly wide.

"B..bro..ther?"

The elder hybrid raised an eyebrow as Sherlock's eyes ran over him. No cat ears...no tail. Physically he looked human.

"Mycroft. My name's Mycroft now, Sherlock. You should forget that name of yours too, your owner has given you a new name, you need to accept it."

"What happened to you?! I heard you had run away, but...your ears...and tail!"

"I got rid of them. Underground surgery, you can do anything when you have enough money. I'm not going to be a pet to humans anymore. I refuse to bow to these imbeciles. I will rule over them and beat them at their own game."

Sherlock frowned, staring at his brother like he had lost his mind.

"You're going to live as a human?"

"Yes, and I'm going to gain such immense power that I will be the one controlling humans. Sherlock, forget me. Forget you ever had a brother. I am no longer related to you in any way."

The younger Holmes choked on a breath at the words, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"Wh-what?! But you're my brother! We share DNA!"

The human-looking hybrid sighed and started walking away.

"Sherlock, that means nothing. From now on I don't know you, and you don't know me. I am human, Sherlock, you...you're just a hybrid."

With those parting words, Mycroft disappeared once more leaving Sherlock crying on the cage floor. He wailed and sobbed, tugging on his ears as if he could pull them off. It hurt, it hurt so much, but maybe he can tear them away and then his brother will accept him again.

Soft hands grabbed his own and tried to pry them away from his ears.

"Sherlock!"

A firm but gently voice called out to him.

"Sherlock, stop, wake up!"

The brunet shook his head, eyes shut tightly. He felt the brush of fingers over his hair, encircling him in a warm embrace. Slowly, the metal bars of the cage dulled into nothingness and Sherlock blinked his eyes open. They felt wet, and he was shaking, but someone was talking to him.

"Shh, shhh, Sherlock, it's OK, you're OK, come on, wake up for me."

John was relieved to see his partner no longer seemed determined to rip his ears out. He had been woken up by Sherlock's frantic flailing and screams, a single name ripping from his throat. Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes, his brother. Before the doctor could do anything, however, the slender fingers had grabbed onto his own ears and pulled so hard it made John wince. Now he held the trembling hybrid in his arms, feeling alarmed at the tears that streamed down Sherlock's cheeks as consciousness seemed to return to him.

"Sherlock, it's OK, you're safe, no one's leaving you alone, I'm here, I'm here..."

The doctor whispered into Sherlock's ear as the other clung to John, sobbing into his pajamas

His ears throbbed and he could still see the image of Mycroft so clearly, the disdain in his voice, the disgust in his gaze as he watched Sherlock break down. He had tried, he really had, to do as his brother had instructed. Stop caring, stop feeling because all he ever got was pain, but it had been so hard. Sherlock had managed a convincing enough mask in front of his owners before, but now, now John had managed to break through it and Sherlock was honestly relieved he had.

John held Sherlock tightly, letting him cry. Clearly their talk at the restaurant at raised some painful memories for the brunet. He continued nuzzling against the soft curls, stroking his hands down the slim back and kissing at the flattened ears. He repeated comforting words over and over, not even sure if Sherlock heard them, but hoping they helped even a little bit.

It was a long time before Sherlock settled down again. His cries quieted but he didn't move from John's embrace. For a while the doctor wondered if the brunet had fallen asleep again, but then he heard a soft sniffle.

"Sherlock? Are you OK?"

John whispered quietly, just in case the other was actually asleep.

A small nod answered him.

"Do you want to talk?"

A shake of his head, no.

"OK, do you want to try to sleep a little more?"

He felt Sherlock curl tighter against him.

"It's OK, I'll be right here if you want to sleep. I won't go anywhere," the doctor reassured the brunet.

After a few more minutes, he slowly felt the body pressed against him relax once more. Softly, John sighed in relief. Tomorrow he'll see if maybe Sherlock wants to talk, maybe he can find out a bit about this Mycroft. Even if Sherlock says he's not interested in locating his brother, it was clear the topic still preyed on his mind.

For now, though, John pulled the covers up a bit tighter around them. Outside the sky was already starting to lighten up, midnight black giving way to the gentle hues of navy blue. The older man closed his eyes, hoping that Sherlock will be able to get a few hours of dreamless sleep this time.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 9 END** _

Thanks for reading and all comments, reviews and kudos loved~!!!  <3

Trying to figure out how to put Mycroft in a position of power when hybrids are considered pets was quite a project.  Well, slowly but surely our cast is becoming more completely.

 


	10. The Coat and The Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes up with an idea for Sherlock to go out on his own without being targeted for being a hybrid. The brunet gets to go into the city on his own for the first time, while John heads out for a job interview.

 

The next morning, John let Sherlock sleep in, keeping his footsteps quiet as he moved about the flat. He checked his emails as he drank his morning coffee, setting up a few interviews over the next few days. It felt strange, getting back into thinking about work again. Patients, diagnosis, nine to five, chit chatting with co-workers, it all seemed so...ordinary.

Sherlock didn't awake until noon, kicking off the covers in the heat of midday. He sat up and yawned, shaking his head to clear out the night's cobwebs and kick start his brain into working. Flashes from last night's nightmare came back to him slowly and he sighed heavily. Darn, he had tried so hard to bury all of that, keep it in a locked room in his mind. There's no use dwelling on it anyway, might as well forget. He picked up the collar from the nightstand and placed it around his neck. John preferred he take it off when they go to bed, for a little while he could pretend he didn't buy Sherlock like one buys a new car. It was endearing how conflicted the doctor felt about the whole thing, he clearly enjoyed the brunet's company yet felt such guilt about how he came to own him. Sherlock really didn't mind, and he wished there was something he could do to ease John's conscience.

Actually, Sherlock had noticed the doctor was full of contradictions. A doctor that went to war, a career meant to heal in a setting meant to kill. His therapist thought John was traumatized by the war, but Sherlock knew better. The spark of excitement in those cobalt eyes when they had come across Jennifer Wilson's body and the eagerness with which John had gone to Scotland Yard, that wasn't fear. Sherlock had read about soldiers like John, retired from the military but addicted to the adrenaline of putting their lives on the line. The doctor tried to keep it in check, finding it shameful to feel excited when lives are at stake, but really, he should know better than to try and hide it from Sherlock.

Soft footsteps sounded outside the bedroom and John poked his head in through the doorway. He smiled when he saw that the brunet was awake and walked over, sitting down on the side of the bed. Sherlock shifted as the mattress tilted with the doctor's added weight, his tail lazily flicking over to John's side where the older man petted the fur gently.

“Fancy something to eat?”

For the first time since they had met, Sherlock shook his head, refusing food. He didn't think he could stomach it at the moment.

“No, it's OK, I'm not really hungry.”

John frowned a bit although he quickly hid it away. Sherlock was always happy to eat, it was as if the brunet was making up for all those years of not getting to have his fill. For him to be not hungry, especially considering he didn't eat breakfast, that was unusual, but then John didn't want to push him. Perhaps he just needed a bit of time to get over that nightmare.

“OK, how about something to drink then? Milk? Orange juice?”

Sherlock thought for a moment then nodded.

“Um...milk...I can come go get it.”

He moved to get off the bed and immediately John pulled him into a hug, kissing his cheek. He traced his fingers down the slender back, feeling slightly relieved when Sherlock leaned into him.

“Sherlock...if you want to talk, I'm here.”

John didn't need to explain what he meant, they both knew. The tall hybrid nodded, hugging the short haired man back.

After a while they moved apart and headed for the kitchen. Sherlock poured himself a glass of milk and sat down at his own laptop to drink while John went back to his emails.

“I've got an interview tomorrow afternoon, around one. Is that OK? Do you want me to ask Mrs. Hudson to come up and keep you company?”

Sherlock shook his head as he tapped out something on the keyboard.

“No, it's OK. I have a few cases to look over for Lestrade. I don't think she'll appreciate seeing crime scene photos...although given her history I would think she's fairly used to them.”

John raised an eyebrow at his partner, looking across the table at him.

“Sorry, what?”

Sherlock returned his gaze.

“Mrs. Hudson, her ex-husband ran a drug cartel. Somewhere in Florid, and at some point she worked as an exotic dancer.”

The doctor gaped, unable to match the information he was receiving with his image of the kind, elderly woman that lived below them.

“E-exotic...what?”

“Dancer, John, exotic dancer. Surely you've visited those establishments before? I understand they're quite popular among human males.”

John shook his head to rid the image from his mind. No, no, not going to go there.

“How did you even..?”

“Oh, I found some photos of her from her younger days. Appears she was actually quite famous in her city back then, as was her husband. Apparently she wasn't aware of the majority of his activities, blinded by love as the saying goes, but when he murdered a few people and was sentenced to death for it, well, that cat came out of the bag.”

John looked from Sherlock to the door, as if expecting the topic of their conversation to suddenly show up. Dear god, he didn't know how he was going to face Mrs. Hudson after this. Was he even suppose to know? But if it was up on the internet then she had to expect that someone might run across the information at some point. Still, better not bring it up.

“Uh...right. Let's just...keep that to ourselves, yeah?”

Sherlock's ears flicked as he nodded, eyes going back to his screen.

“Where is the interview tomorrow?”

“Clinic nearby. Not too big, they're just looking for someone to fill in for a few months. I thought I'd start off with something easy and see how it goes.”

The tapping of keys stopped and John looked over, wondering what made Sherlock pause. He saw the ears tense, flattening a bit to his head before the blue eyes peered at him once more, slightly hesitant.

“So...when you get a job, you'll be gone all day.”

The doctor nodded, not sure where Sherlock was going with that.

“What about...I mean...the...in the afternoon...”

The furry ears drooped as did Sherlock's tail as he fumbled for words. He didn't want to sound needy but he would so miss their walks and their cafe visits. John finally clued in and he gently closed the lid to his laptop, bringing his chair to sit before Sherlock. He stroked his thumb over a pale cheek, leaning in to press a kiss against the full lips.

“Our walks, you mean? Well...we can move them to after I get home...or after dinner. But I'll leave you a set of keys, Sherlock, so if you want to go out while I'm away, you can. And now you have your own bank account, so you can go explores some cafes or do some shopping on your own if you feel like it.”

Sherlock's eyes were slightly panicked at the thought. Being surrounded by humans when John wasn't around was nerve wracking, he despised it. All their smells and sounds, it grated on his senses.

The doctor reached up and stroked his ears thoughtfully, his brain slowly putting together an idea.

“What if we get you a hat, Sherlock? A hat and I think I've got a trench coat, that would hide your ears and tail when you're out in public. Oh, and the coat has a high collar, so if you pull it up no one would see your collar.”

Sherlock perked up as he realized that would indeed work. The other hybrids would smell that he wasn't human if he stood close enough, but the humans wouldn't know, and it was unlikely he'd be outed by another hybrid.

“Give me a minute, I should have it in my closet.”

John got up and headed to the bedroom to look while Sherlock's tail whisked behind him. If he could really move about in public without being identified as a hybrid, maybe he can go down to Scotland Yard on his own when John's away. Lestrade had been mentioning he had some crime scenes recently that he would have liked Sherlock to have been there first hand, but since Sherlock's a hybrid it would have been troublesome to explain him to the other officers that worked the scene. The DI had gotten away with giving Sherlock cold case files, telling his superiors that John was the one handling them, but if they found out it was actually a hybrid a lot of feathers would have been ruffled. Now, however, maybe Sherlock can go.

The doctor returned holding up a beautiful black trench coat, fairly thick, double breasted, and the button holes had nice red accents bordering them.

“I got it as a gift from an old army mate, but it's too big for me. It should look good on you since you're so tall.”

He handed the coat over as Sherlock hopped up from his chair to take it, holding it open to check the inside and outside. The fabric was quite heavy, nice and sturdy, and clearly unworn. Sherlock wrapped it around himself and John smiled as it settled perfectly over his shoulders.

“Wow, look at that. You strike quite a figure in that, Sherlock.”

High cheeks blushed as Sherlock turned his head to check out the back. He carefully tucked his tail under the coat, happy to note that the material gave no hint to its existence at all.

John held out a hat he had been holding in his other hand, greyish, with two claps on the side tied to the top.

“Found this deerstalker in the closet too, see how it fits.”

Sherlock ducked his head to let the doctor place the hat on his head. He wiggled it around until it covered the brunet's triangular ears completely, smoothing out his curls. With the hat on, Sherlock found he couldn't hear very well. All the sounds were muffled, and the fabric trapped the heat from his ears making them hot and uncomfortable, but he could handle it.

“There, looks pretty good,” John smiled as he gave his partner a once over.

Sherlock bounced into the bathroom to check himself in the full length mirror, smiling. He did look human, no one would notice the difference as long as he kept his tailed tucked in and the hat on. It was perfect. He rushed out and pounced on John, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you, John! Now I can go with Lestrade to crime scenes!”

John laughed, finding it amusing that that would be Sherlock's priority. It looked like things will be OK.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
John strolled through the park the following afternoon feeling quite proud of himself. The interview had been a success and he had been offer the job immediately. The woman who interviewed him, Sarah, was funny and easy to talk to. She had warned him that the job would probably be dull for him, but John didn't mind. It was an easy job, three to four days a week, and good pay.

He checked his phone, noting he had been away for about two hours, but found only four messages from Sherlock.

_'John, going to Scotland Yard. -S'_   
_'So many cars on the streets. -S'_   
_'Lestrade is taking me with him to a crime scene, John! Burglary! Almost 5,000 pounds of stolen jewelry! -S'_   
_'Wow...these officers are unbelievably unobservant. -S'_

John shook his head, compared to Sherlock most people would be unobservant. He quickly typed back a reply.

_'Interview went well, got the job. Be careful at crime scene, take care of yourself. -J'_

It only took a few minutes for his phone to ding, signalling a new message.

_'I will. Knew you would get the job, you're overqualified for working at a clinic. -S'_

John smiled as he typed.

_'Maybe, but better to start off easy and work my way up. Where are you now? -J'_

As the doctor neared the flat, he received Sherlock's reply.

_'Back at NSY. Caught the burglar, but he's not telling them where he hid the stolen goods. -S'_

_'Oh, how long do you think you'll be there for? -J'_

_'I don't know how long this will take. Lestrade just asked me to watch the interrogation to see if I can pick up any signs from the burglar to lead us to the goods. -S'_

John opened the door to the flat and headed up the stairs. He sat down on the sofa, kicking his shoes off and pulling his legs up to lie down on the soft cushions. He felt quite proud of Sherlock, it has only been a few months since he had first come to live with John and already he had changed so much. From the scared and insecure hybrid at the market to being able to go out by himself, and even helping Scotland Yard, it was marvelous. He no longer feared asking for things, although he sometimes still hesitated, and he wasn't afraid to refuse things now.

The doctor felt his eyes droop and slowly he fell asleep on the sofa, phone in hand.

 

**~*~*~**

It wasn't until a few hours later when the smell of food wafted through the flat that John awoke. He blinked, confused as to why he wasn't in bed and then remembered. Right, job, interview, Sherlock, Scotland Yard. John yawned and stretched out his muscles, wondering how long he had been asleep. It was still light out, but clearly later afternoon by now. He heard some movements in the kitchen and realized the delicious smells must have came from there.

“Sherlock? Is that you?”

Immediately, a pair of cat ears peeked out from the kitchen door followed by a mop of brown hair sitting over beautiful blue eyes. The brunet had shed the hat and coat, now hung on the back of the door, which left him in a light blue button down shirt and dark blue jeans. Sherlock held a spatula in one hand and a salt shaker in the other, smiling at the doctor.

“You're awake. I started dinner, I even bought a cake on my way back from Scotland Yard. I...I thought we should celebrate, since you got a job.”

John pushed himself off the sofa and strode over to where Sherlock stood, stretching up to kiss his lips. He noticed the joyous glint in the other's eyes, the slender tail swishing about, clearly a signal that the brunet was happy about something.

“Let me guess, you also solved the case for Scotland Yard?”

Excitedly, Sherlock nodded, eyes lighting up even more.

“Yes, completely solved. Just paperwork left, Lestrade was complaining about that. He was so surprised when I showed up today with the coat and hat. It's so much easier to deduce things from the actual scene than from photos.”

John smiled and ruffled Sherlock's hair.

“So it went well then. You didn't run into any problems? Anyone give you a hard time?”

The curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head.

“No, none of the humans, aside from Lestrade and a few officers who saw me before, realized I was a hybrid. I was kind of nervous in the cab, but then I saw the driver wasn't paying me any attention so I just tried acting as normal as possible.”

“Good. Do you need any help with dinner?”

Sherlock headed back into the kitchen with John trailing behind.

“No, it's almost done. Just need to let the rice simmer a bit more.”

“Rice? You cooked rice? But we don't have a rice cooker,” the older man peered around the kitchen, trying to see what Sherlock had decided to make for dinner.

“I borrowed it from Mrs. Hudson to make Chinese food. I found a recipe on the internet for some stir fry dishes.”

The brunet pulled out a plate from a cupboard and set it down beside the stove. Then, carefully, he picked up the pan that had what looked like green beans and minced meat in it and scooped the food onto the plate with his spatula. John headed over to what must have been the rice cooker and opened the lid. A cloud of steam puffed up as he looked inside.

“Oh, looks good. Smells amazing!”

Sherlock smiled proudly as he set his plate down on the table and then grabbed two bowls, holding them out for John to scoop some rice into.

As they sat down at the table, John saw that aside from the stir fried beans and rice, Sherlock had also made soup and another dish that looked like fish. He chuckled when he noticed that Sherlock was wielding a pair of chopsticks once more, while he had placed a fork and spoon down for John.

“Did you get those from Mrs. Hudson too?”

The brunet nodded, looking over the utensils happily.

“Yes, she gave them to me. Said I can use them to practice."

The rest of the meal they shared quietly, talking over the burglar case. Sherlock had been thrilled, out and about on his own for the first time. He had tried to keep his curiosity in check so that people wouldn't get suspicious, but he couldn't help poking his nose around when no one was looking. Sherlock had used his phone and taken an enormous amount of photos, from manhole covers to people walking their dogs. Everything seemed interesting to him and John listened patiently, smiling as Sherlock described the different patterns on sidewalk cement between Baker Street and Scotland Yard.

They curled up on the sofa to watch telly after dinner, two pieces of cake stacked on a plate. Sherlock had bought the dessert from the cafe he and John had visited before, where Sherlock had accidentally crashed into a customer. Isabelle was there again and she had been delighted to see Sherlock, asking him how he was doing and what John was up to. She had complimented him on his outfit, and even gave him a free slice of cheesecake, since Sherlock had enjoyed it so much last time.

John relaxed back on the sofa, holding Sherlock in his lap while the brunet held the plate. The doctor picked up a bite of cake on his fork and brought it to Sherlock's mouth, who happily accepted it, lapping at the fork to get all the cream. A bit of icing stuck to the corner of his mouth and John leaned over without thinking, licking it up. Sherlock mewled and turned his head a bit, pressing his lips against the older man's. John licked over the plush lips, tasting the sweetness from the cake as Sherlock opened his mouth, poking his tongue out to meet John's. With a soft moan, the short haired man pulled back a bit, carefully taking the plate of food from Sherlock to place it on the coffee table along with the fork, freeing both their hands so they could touch and feel. Immediately, Sherlock's long arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close once more, nipping at his mouth and pressing his tongue inside. John let the brunet have his fill as his own hands traced down over Sherlock's side and back, fingers burying themselves into the silky hair to rub at his ears.

Sherlock's purr was muffled by John's mouth as the kiss deepened. The doctor shivered feeling the brunet's fingers trail down his spine. Sherlock shifted in John's lap, sitting up and moving his legs so that he could straddle his owner's lap. He rolled his hips against John causing the older man to groan as his hold on Sherlock tightened.

By the time they pulled apart, both parties were breathing hard, pupils blown wide and clearly desperate for more. It had been several weeks now since their first time together. Although stealing kisses with the occasional hand job or oral sex had become regular occurrences, it hadn't proceeded further than that. John was hesitant, afraid that to go all the way might trigger memories in Sherlock that would upset him.

Now, however, as their eyes locked, both of them ached to feel more. Sherlock cupped John's face between his hands, leaning in until there was hardly a hair's width separating their lips. He pushed his pelvis down and felt John's hardened member even through the fabric of their trousers.

"John..."

The name was whispered softly, trailing off in a moan as the doctor's hand reached behind Sherlock and massaged at the base of his tail.

"John...please...will you..."

The older man leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek, pulling the brunet down so he can nuzzle against the soft ears, kissing them.

"Will I what, Sherlock? Tell me what you want..."

Darkened blue eyes fluttered as he swallowed hard, willing his mouth to function.

"Will you take me? I want you to...if you want to..."

John inhaled sharply, his eyes once more meeting Sherlock's. They were lust filled but so filled with adoration that it made John's heart ache. When had anyone shown him so much care? He brushed back some of the curls that fell over Sherlock's forehead, the hand at the brunet's back, clasping over his waist to pull him close.

"You really want that, Sherlock? You're sure?"

Not missing a beat, Sherlock nodded, mewling in his throat. His eyes grew hopeful and John found himself incapable of refusing.

"All right...let's go to the bedroom, then, yeah?"

A wide smile blossomed over Sherlock's lips as his tail flicked excitedly. He wrapped the slender appendage around John as they stood up, stumbling towards their destination.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 10 END** _

Whew, 10 chapters :D  Thank you all for sticking with me and your lovely comments and kudos!  I adore them <3 <3

Sorry for cutting this chapter off where I did OTL  Needed a breather before I dive into the smut once more XD  Pretty obvious what's in store for next chapter I think, haha, I shall get it up as quickly as my fingers can type it out (typing is so much slower than imagining in my head -_-)

 


	11. The Second First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I...think I can skip the summary. If you read chapter 10 you'll know what's in store this time.

 

John and Sherlock tried walking, kissing and touching at the same time as they fumbled towards the bedroom. By the time they got through the door, John's jumper had already been tossed somewhere, and both their shirts had come undone. John flicked on the bedside lights giving the room a soft glow as they stared at the bed, then at each other before soft laughter broke in the quiet room. Sherlock tossed off his own shirt before falling backwards onto the bed, pulling his owner down with him. Something inside him was fluttering at the thought of what they're about to do and he mewled as John's hand stroked down, over his tummy to settle on the bulge in his trousers. He brushed his tail over the doctor's side making him laugh as the soft fur tickled and it made Sherlock smile.

The prospect of sexual intercourse always caused him to tense and become anxious, but now, with John, everything was relaxed. He trusted the doctor not to hurt him, and a part of him was curious what sex was suppose to feel like, without the pain or fear.

John rubbed his palm against Sherlock's cloth-covered member and the cat ears twitched, soft moans falling from his lips. The older man leaned down and licked a trail down Sherlock's sternum, lapping at his bellybutton. Shaky fingers dug into short blond hair as the brunet laid against the mattress, gasping for air. Slowly, John moved his hand and undid the belt, popping open the zipper that held Sherlock's trousers closed. He slid lower, taking the zipper between his teeth and pulling it down. Sharp eyes widened as arousal flooded through Sherlock. He grabbed at John's hand to pull him up, latching onto his mouth and thrust his hips upwards to grind against his owner. The action caused both of them to groan loudly, sparks of heat racing through their blood.

"Sh-Sherlock...how do you want to do this?"

Long, pale legs wrapped around John's waist as the slender neck stretched up and pressed lush, full lips against the doctor's ear, licking over the shell.

"I...I want to see you, John...as you take me...please?"

Sherlock shivered just imagining the image. Before, he had always preferred being taken while on his hands and knees, it was the easiest, and he could bury his face in his arms to muffle the screams. The last thing he wanted to see was the face of whoever pushed into him, letting them kiss him as they used his body.

But this time, without a doubt, Sherlock wanted to see. He wanted to see John's face as he pushes inside, he wanted to watch when the man comes inside, he wanted to imprint every image in his mind, document every sound the doctor makes. He wanted to remember clearly the first time he willingly lets himself be taken and the man he has chosen to give himself to.

John's eyes suddenly grew warm at Sherlock's words. His arms encircled Sherlock and pulled him tightly to his chest, peppering kisses against the dark brown hair. For a few seconds, they simply stayed like that, unmoving, each thanking whatever power of the universe had driven the other into their path.

Slowly, John pulled back, tracing a finger around Sherlock's face gently. His eyes flicked down to the slender throat, frowning a bit at the collar that was still clasped around it. Reaching back, the doctor unhooked the leather strap, pulling it away to be placed on the night stand. He nuzzled at the now bared neck, pressing a few soft kisses to the skin. He didn't want Sherlock as property when they do this, he didn't want to be reminded of that at all.

"If it hurts, if you want me to stop at any time, tell me, OK? I won't be angry or upset, so promise you'll tell me, Sherlock."

The brunet pushed John's shirt off his shoulders as he nodded, leaning down to kiss over the scar on the doctor's left shoulder. The wound that had gotten the doctor sent home, the wound that the man had cursed and hated because it reminded him of his failure. Yet John found he didn't hold such animosity towards the scarred flesh anymore, after all, it had indirectly led to him meeting Sherlock.

"I promise, John...I promise...please..."

Sherlock's voice bordered on pleading as he stroked his hand downwards, unbuckling the man's belt to slide his hand into the trousers. There wasn't enough room for Sherlock's entire hand, but the tips of his fingers managed to trace over the tip of John's cock. The man bucked his hips, gasping and Sherlock took the chance to slide his hungry tongue into John's mouth. They kissed desperately, each clinging to the other as they rubbed and ground their bodies together.

With a forceful push, John pulled himself off of the brunet tugging at the waist of his trousers.

"Let's get these out of the way."

Sherlock agreed wholeheartedly and he lifted his hips, allowing the short haired man to pull them off along with his pants. He mewled in relief as the restrictive clothing fell to the floor, shifting on the bed until he laid on the pillows. John kicked off the rest of his own clothes, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he looked over at Sherlock, appreciating the lovely view. Sherlock's hair glowed softly in the light, his eyes shining navy blue. In the dim lighting, his ears and tail looked black, sharply contrasting with the paleness of his skin. His cock was hard, already glistening at the tip from where pre-come had gathered and he dipped a finger in the fluid, bringing it to his own mouth to lick away.

John groaned, his own cock twitching as he watched and Sherlock smiled, lowering his chin so that he regarded the man from under hooded eyes. Outside of here he might be curious and blundering, like a child exploring the world, but in the bedroom, this was his stomping ground. John always treated him like fragile glass, taking his time to make sure that Sherlock was pleasured, but tonight it was Sherlock's turn. His circumstances for acquiring the skills he had were unfortunate, but now that he had them, Sherlock would put them to good use.

Pale legs spread wide on the bed, bent at the knees as long, slim fingers gripped his own cock, giving a firm pump from base to head. The brunet's head fell back into the pillows, mouth open as the tip of his tongue peeked out, deliberately swiping over his bottom lip.

John felt frozen in spot, staring completely transfixed and unable to look away. Oh hell, that had to be the most erotic thing he has ever seen.

Sherlock reached out his free hand, asking wordlessly for John to join him. Slowly, the older man crawled over, settling himself between the inviting legs. The hooded blue eyes peered at him, lightly mouthing over his jaw.

"Did you like that? Did you like watching me, John?"

A shudder shook John's body at the words whispered huskily against his skin. His brain wasn't functioning and all he could manage in reply was a choked gasp.

Sherlock smiled against him and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks at the same time. A low, guttural groan rumbled from the doctor's chest and he couldn't help thrusting into Sherlock's fist. Fuck, that was bloody amazing. Feeling Sherlock's hard member against his own not only felt good, but just the image was enough to make him dizzy. The young hybrid mewled, panting as his hips moved along with John's, their pre-come making his grip slippery and messy.

It was with enormous effort that Sherlock managed to pull his hand away, his mouth blindly finding John's to swallow his disappointed moan.

"John...John please...take me, do it, now."

Frantically, the doctor reached out for the night stand, opening the top drawer and pulling out the bottle of lubrication he kept there. He grabbed a pillow and shuffled it under the slender hips as Sherlock hooked his hands under his knees to keep them spread. Soft ears stiffened with anticipation mixed into nervousness and Sherlock swallowed, feeling his heart racing. Habits were hard to break and he's never had intercourse that didn't hurt, his body was more or less conditioned to respond to penetration with the expectation of pain.

"Sherlock, relax...relax for me, it'll be OK."

The doctor had poured the lube into his palm and spread it over his fingers. Gently, he pulled Sherlock's hands from where they gripped his pale legs so the brunet wasn't in such a scrunched up position. His free hand clasped Sherlock's and the older man brought both of their hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the brunet's knuckles.

Carefully, John's other hand sought out Sherlock's opening, fingering over it. The initial touch caused Sherlock to tense and his tailed froze where it had been twitching on the bed. John kept kissing his partner's hand, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's face and using his reactions to determine his next actions, He kept rubbing over the puckered hole, not attempting to penetrate it at all until Sherlock started squirming.

As he got used to the feel of John's finger brushing over him down there, Sherlock's muscles loosened. He whined softly in his throat when the doctor still made no move to push in which earned him an amused look from John. Sherlock wrapped his tail around the wrist of the hand John was using to prep him, giving it a squeeze as if telling him to get on with it.

"Johnnn..."

The soft voice whispered, drawing out the name. The doctor took that as confirmation that Sherlock was ready for more and the tip of his finger breached the ring of muscle.

Sherlock gave a squeak, but showed no sign of discomfort. His mouth tilted upwards in a small smile, looking almost embarrassed at the attention John's showing him and his tail gave tug, trying to get John to push the finger in further.

The doctor complied slowly, inching the digit inside, all the while keeping his other hand joined with Sherlock's and locking his eyes with the darkened blue orbs. He licked his lips at the feeling of his finger inside Sherlock's body, trying not to imagine himself pushing inside the hot tightness for fear that he'll become too aroused and do something idiotic in the heat of lust. Concentrate on Sherlock, he scolded himself, stop thinking about your own dick.

When the finger finally sat in to the knuckle, John moved it around a bit, making Sherlock moan. His fingers squeezed John's hand as his cock twitched.

"J-John...more...it's OK, I'm OK," he assured the doctor.

John nodded, sliding the finger out. He took the bottle of lube from where it laid on the bed, opening it with one hand and squeezing out more of the viscous liquid. This time he poured some right over Sherlock's opening and the pale hybrid squeaked, shivering at the sudden coolness. It felt like John had used the whole bottle on him and he tried to look down as if to see.

"You're going to ruin the bed if that gets all over the mattress."

John rolled his eyes, moving two fingers this time to stroke over the tight puckered muscles.

"Then we'll just get a new one...a bigger one."

Sherlock gave a soft laugh that faded into a gasp as John's fingers pushed in. This time there was a bit of a stretch and he felt it. The older man leaned over him, peppering kisses over the full lips and sharp jaw when he felt the tail around his wrist tighten.

This was new, Sherlock had known it wouldn't be like his past experiences, but he had no idea how slow and careful John would be. Perhaps it was because he was a doctor and was only too aware of the fragility of the body, or perhaps he was just fearful about causing Sherlock any discomfort, either way all this time spent just preparing was unimaginable to Sherlock.

A startled mewl fell from his lips when Sherlock felt the two fingers fully sheath inside, the doctor using the position to run his thumb over the his sensitive perineum. His muscles spasmed, clenching around John's fingers before relaxing.

John smiled as he watched, wanting to remember every sound and reaction his beautiful partner made.

It wasn't until he was sure that Sherlock had gotten used to the two fingers that John tried pushing three in. His eyes were alert, watching for any sign that he was hurting the brunet. Sherlock's head fell back, sinking into the pillows as he moaned. His tail unwrapped from John's wrist and he pulled it up to his own mouth, biting down on it to muffle the noises he wanted to make.

"Sherlock you don't have to do that...it's OK...let me hear you," John whispered, freeing his hand from Sherlock's for a moment to tug the furry appendage from between the clenched teeth. He lapped at the brunet's mouth, swallowing all the delightful mewls and gasps as he worked his fingers, pushing in a bit before pulling out a little, each time going in deeper. Sherlock's ears were flattened to his head, cheeks flushed an adorable pink as his hands gripped the bed sheets below him.

John purposely curled his fingers when he felt they were in past halfway, carefully stroking along the inner walls until suddenly, Sherlock froze. His eyes snapped open wide, a choked yelp ripped from his throat as his hands flew to grip John's shoulders so tightly the doctor felt the nails digging into him. Found it, John congratulated himself silently, his lips smiling as he stroked over the spot once more.

"J-John!"

Sherlock's muscles twitched, even his tail curled as he stared wide-eyed at John, mouth open.

"Do you like that?" John asked as he noticed Sherlock's opening suddenly relaxing so that it didn't clench around his fingers so tightly.

The long legs fell open wider as Sherlock started squirming, trying to pushing himself down onto the doctor's hand himself so that he can experience that feeling again.

"Uh-nn....ooh..."

He couldn't manage any words so the brunet settled for some jerky nods as his eyes swirled with arousal. He wanted more, now. In a jumble of limbs, Sherlock slid his arms around John's neck, pulling him down for a full kiss, although he kept having to break to pant for air as the doctor now seemed determined to drive him incapable of functioning by continuously brushing over the bundle of nerves inside him.

"Joohnnn...ready...so ready, please..."

John never realized how aroused he could get just from watching someone, his own erection aching by now. He groaned at Sherlock's voice, low and husky even more than usual. Feeling about as desperate as Sherlock looked, he nodded in response, sliding his fingers out. Sherlock watched, eyes hooded, silently urging John to hurry as the doctor grabbed the lube once more. He squeezed some over his straining cock, stroking it a few times to spread the slippery liquid around, shuddering at his own touch. Fuck, at this rate it's not going to take long for him to reach orgasm. He wiped his hand on the bed sheet before positioning himself over Sherlock, the tip of his penis lined to the brunet's opening.

Two pairs of adoring eyes met and with a deep breath, John pushed his hips forward.

Sherlock groaned at the initial breach, almost growling. John moved a hand down and started stroking the brunet's cock, hoping it will help ease him to the feeling. Sherlock's fingers gripped the hair at the nape of the doctor's neck, trying to hold himself still as he panted softly. It didn't hurt, but the feeling of being filled seemed so much more intense since John was going slow. He was given the chance to feel every inch of the older man's cock entering him, the slide of it rubbing against his inner walls shooting off sparks of fire through his body.

John was breathing hard, his eyes unable to focus as the warmth of Sherlock's body enveloped him. He buried his face down against Sherlock's neck, breathing in his gorgeous hybrid's scent, sloppily mouthing over wherever he could manage to reach.

When John's cock was almost all in, Sherlock wrapped his powerful legs around the doctor's waist and pulled, causing John to thrust in the rest of the way with a surprised cry. The brunet mewled loudly as the sudden shift put John's cock directly in contact with his prostate flooding his senses with pleasure. He tossed his head back, ears twitching uncontrollably with gasping noises of desire.

John froze when he felt himself suddenly slide in to the hilt, the friction knocking the breath out from his lungs. He heard the sounds coming from Sherlock but his own heartbeat seemed too loud and was drowning out everything else. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking them open and shook his head to try and clear away the wave of chemicals muddling his brain to find Sherlock's hand wrapped around his own on the brunet's cock, looking at him pleadingly.

"Jo..Joh..n...please...please...m..ore...want...s-so badly..."

More, yes, the doctor desperately needed more too. He hastily gave those delicious lips a kiss as his hips moved back, withdrawing his cock from inside the heat. John took Sherlock's free hand in his once more, linking their fingers and pressing it into the mattress beside the brunet's head. He paused once he had only the head of his member still inside, making Sherlock whine but before he could gather his thoughts to complain, John pushed forward once more, entering back into the welcoming body steadily. Both of them moaned this time, their joined hands clasped so tightly together that their fingers were white at the tips. Sherlock's hand urged him to move faster over the brunet's dripping cock and John was only too happy to comply. He matched his hips to the pace of their strokes, gradually increasing the speed and power behind them.

When it became clear that he was in no danger of harming Sherlock, John let go of his precautions and started thrusting more earnestly. The mewls and whimpers mixed with gasps and moans he managed to pull from the beautiful hybrid were so sinfully erotic to him that he thrusted harder just to hear more. Sherlock couldn't think, couldn't talk, only feel John surround him. The man pushing into the most intimate part of him, his groans and pants, his smell, everything was John.

Their hands stroked over his cock in a frenzy as the noises they made grew louder and louder. The threat of orgasm loomed over them and John felt the heat pooling in his groin. He leaned down, forcing his eyes to open, nipping at Sherlock's mouth.

"Sh-Sher..lock..."

The brunet mewled at the hoarse voice gasping out his name and ran his almost entirely black eyes burrily over John. The man tilted his head to the side, exposing the curve of his neck. Feeling a desire to taste, Sherlock stretched his head up and swiped his tongue over the flesh, tasting the saltiness of sweat.

"B..bite...Sherlock...bite down, make me yours."

The words made the brunet gasp, a flush of heat thrilling through him. John was offering him the chance to mark him...he was being given the opportunity to lay claim to his owner, his doctor, his John.

The flood of emotions that swelled up in Sherlock threw him over the edge of climax as he opened his mouth and sunk his sharp teeth into the offered flesh. His arms hand clung to John's as his body shuddered, the waves of orgasm washing over him and racing through his blood. He could taste John in his mouth, his John. His. Sherlock's tail wrapped around the man possessively at the thought before his vision whited out and he felt his sticky semen spurt onto his stomach and chest, making a mess.

The sharp sting of Sherlock's teeth digging into him made the doctor cry out and he managed only a few more hard thrusts into the brunet's clenching body before his own orgasm overtook his senses. It was so intense that for a few seconds John was afraid he would pass out. He desperately tried to keep his wits about him, wanting to feel everything. His testicles tightened almost painfully as they pulled up, shooting out his come into the brunet.

For several seconds both occupants froze, caught in the throes of climax, every muscle in their bodies contracted so tightly they were trembling. Then, as if time started moving again, they fell to the bed, John doing his best to flop towards the side so he didn't drop his deadweight right on top of Sherlock. Neither of them could manage anything other than breathing, trying to catch their breath.

The bite mark on John's neck throbbed and after a while he felt gentle fingers tracing over it. He blinked his eyes into focus and found Sherlock watching him, looking almost shy as he flicked his eyes between John's face and the mark.

The doctor offered a lopsided smile, turning his head to kiss at Sherlock's wrist. Carefully, he pushed himself up, pulling out from the brunet's body making Sherlock whimper softly. His legs drew up instinctively as he felt some of the warm semen inside him spill out. The puckered opening was red from their coupling and John gently brushed his thumb over it, watching it clench at the touch.

"Do you feel all right?"

Sherlock arched his back a little, stretching as he smiled, eyes glowing.

"Uhn. Feels wonderful. Can't move much, though."

John laughed took the sleek tail in his clean hand, kissing the tip. He then crawled over to the night stand and pulled out some wet wipes from the top drawer, handing some to Sherlock so he could clean his hand. The doctor wiped down his own fingers before helping the brunet clean away the come that had landed on the lean torso.

As he cleaned, John couldn't help kissing over the pale chest, smiling as he felt the furry tail flicking over his back. Sherlock rubbed it against the bite and he looked at John worriedly.

"Is...is it OK? I wasn't really thinking straight...did I bite too hard?"

John took the used wet wipes and tossed them over to the floor. He'll clean later. He ran a hand over the mark, still remembering the sting.

"It's perfect, absolutely perfect, Sherlock."

The doctor laid down against the pillows and before he could turn to wrap his arms around Sherlock, the brunet clamoured over him, sprawling over his body. His ears were slightly droopy from tiredness, but as he settled, John heard the familiar purr, feeling it vibrate through the slim body. The chemicals from their orgasm was causing Sherlock to feel cuddly and he snuggled against John, wanting the closeness of a warm body. The older man ran his hands down Sherlock's back, tracing random patterns and enjoying his afterglow, feeling incredibly blissful.

After a few minutes of quiet, Sherlock reached down and pulled up the covers, the coolness of the room settling over his skin. He nuzzled his face against the doctor and yawned.

"Thank you, John...it never felt like that before. Is that what sex is suppose to feel like?"

The blond haired man kissed the droopy ears, smiling when they twitched

"Well, did you enjoy it?"

Sherlock lifted his head and nodded, pillowing his chin on his hands over John's chest so that he can gaze up at the doctor.

"It was very enjoyable, although I thought I was going to go crazy at how long you took to prepare me."

John laughed and hugged Sherlock, his laughter making the brunet smile happily. He really did like seeing John laugh, it was the best sight and made everything OK.

"Then yes, that's what sex is suppose to feel like. As long as you enjoy it, Sherlock..."

The doctor's eyes were soft as he peered at the brunet.

"...My Sherlock."

The smile that graced over the luscious lips took John's breath away and Sherlock's tail swished in joy. Tentatively, he reached up, touching the now red bite mark that stood out clearly on John's neck.

"M..my...John?"

The soft question was accompanied by an expression of such vulnerability that John felt almost physical pain at seeing it. He tucked the covers tightly around them, holding Sherlock tightly with one arm as his other hand cupped his cheek, feeling such affection when the brunet leaned into the touch.

"Yes, of course, yours, Sherlock. Just yours."

 

* * *

 

  
 _**CHAPTER 11 END** _

...*Peers out from under sofa.*

Just over 4,000 words of SMUT. *Collapses*

I didn't expect people to get so into who would be topping, haha. But I'm a fan of switchlock, so while John topped this time, Sherlock will get his chance in the future! (Should I put a warning on these smut chapters for who's topping? I mean, is that something people would actually want? If you prefer I add that warning please let me know, I don't mind, everyone's got their preferences after all :D )

But omggggggg, it's doooooone...the big first time to go all the way. I hope I made it OK. For a bit in the middle Sherlock was quite confident and seductive which seems kind of OOC for him in the story, but my theory is that this is where Sherlock's most confident at the moment. He's not completely sure about how things work in the outside world just yet, but in this area he knows what he's doing. So, although it was tragic HOW he came to be knowledgeable, I imagined he would want to use what he knows to please John as much as possible.

Hope you enjoyed, got hot and bothered, and was able to achieve a blissful end like our darling kitty and his doctor. Comments and kudos adored like sweets on Halloween, and I'll see you all next chapter! <3


	12. The Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts his new job and Sherlock finds some memories surfacing. We learn some more about just what our kitty went through at the hands of his last owner.

 

Sherlock awoke to the sound of keys being tapped slowly. He rolled over and found himself bumping into another body. With a mewl, he stretched and yawned his tail flicking lazily under the covers. A hand ruffled through his hair, automatically reaching for his ears to give them an affectionate rub. Sherlock purred, nuzzling up into it as he heard a chuckle. Finally, the brunet pried open his eyes and peered up at the man who shared the bed with him.

John was in his pajamas and he had piled a few pillows behind him so that he can sit up, laptop set over his lap. He had been working on something but stopped to watch Sherlock, noting how very cat-like the brunet looked when he stretched. The blond hair was slightly damp and Sherlock picked up the scent of shampoo signalling that the doctor must have taken a shower when he woke up. Sherlock rolled onto his stomach, digging his face into the pillows as John continued petting him.

"Sleep well? Do you feel OK?" The doctor asked.

Sherlock purred louder in response, sneaking his tail to tickle John's bare feet beneath the duvet. The blond haired man yelped in surprise, legs jerking up as laughter filled the room.

"Sherlock!"

The culprit only grinned as John quickly closed the laptop and set it on the bedside table. The doctor reached below the covers and took a hold of that wicked tail. His fingers followed it until he found the base and rubbed, making Sherlock squeak.

"That's not fair!" Sherlock protested, his hips arching up against John's hand instinctively.

The older man just raised an eyebrow, not stopping at all. He leaned over and nibbled at the soft ears making Sherlock mewl.

"No, it's not, is it?"

The brunet peeked an eye out from where his face was still planted into the pillow, pouting at John even as his hips squirmed. That felt good when John did it. Other people have used the appendage as a means of a leashing, taking advantage of how painful it can be if they pulled it hard, so Sherlock was wary of anyone getting too close to latch onto it. But John never did that. He was always careful, gently rubbing and petting it, stimulating the nerves where the tail joined his body.

Gradually, the hand smoothed up his back, massaging over the muscles and making Sherlock moan softly.

The sudden ringing of the phone startled both occupants and John made a little disgruntled sigh as he grabbed the device, checking to see who the message was from.

"Oh, Lestrade. He says they've got a double homicide and their lead forensics guy is out sick today. Wants you to go have a look instead."

Sherlock's ears stood at attention at the word 'homicide' and he quickly pushed himself up, taking the phone from John.

"Anderson's out sick? Just as well, he's an idiot anyway. Better to not having him stomping around the crime scene, messing up all the evidence."

John rolled his eyes, smirking. Sherlock was growing more and more confident when it came to these cases, granted he had the success rate to back up that confidence.

"Are you going?"

Sherlock was already texting back a reply and he nodded.

"Double homicide, sounds exciting. Do you want to come?"

John thought for a minute, looking between his laptop and Sherlock. He really should do some reading and get ready for his new job, but the case did indeed send a thrill of excitement through him. Finally, he decided on a compromise.

"You go ahead, I've got some things to take care of this morning. I'll come join you in the afternoon...if you haven't solved it by then."

Sherlock sent his message and nodded, eyes already dancing with anticipation. He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss against John's lips before he jumped off the bed to get ready. The doctor just smiled and shook his head, picking up his laptop once more to continue his work.

 

**~*~*~*~**

_Coming to meet you now, where are you? -J_

John sent the message a little after noon.

_Just leaving Scotland Yard. Case solved. -S_

The older man blinked then chuckled in disbelief. Double homicide, solved within hours.

_Oh, are you coming home then? Still want me to meet you? -J_

_If you want to, we can have lunch around here. -S_

_Good plan. Meeting place? -J_

_I'll wait for you in front of Scotland Yard. -S_

_Be there soon. -J_

John hopped into a cab, wondering what the case had been about. Sherlock will fill him in over lunch, he was sure. The brunet loved explaining how he figured these things out

When he got there, the doctor found Sherlock talking with Lestrade outside the front doors. The brunet was dressed in the trench coat and hat once more, hands in the pockets. Lestrade saw him and waved him over, grinning broadly.

"Dr. Watson, good to see you again."

"John's fine. Good to see you, too. So I hear the case was solved?"

The DI's grin grew.

"Only took Sherlock a few minutes on the scene to pin down the murderer. Took longer chasing him down, though. Sherlock's quite light on his feet, isn't he?"

John looked at the brunet in surprise.

"You chased the killer? Unarmed?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"It was instinct. He ran, I chased. Didn't even think about it."

"You know, word has been spreading throughout the departments about the PI who's been helping out. You're getting quite famous in Scotland Yard, Sherlock."

The brunet made an amused noise.

"I'm not a PI, and I would be more famous if they knew I'm not even human."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and patted the young hybrid on the shoulder.

"Hardly a problem in my book."

John smiled at the DI's words and saw the slight upward tilt at the corners of Sherlock's mouth too. The brunet had clearly grown used to Lestrade enough to not hiss or flinch at his touch, and it made John feel a bit better. Having the brunet run around crime scenes was slightly nerve wracking, especially if John can't be there, so knowing there was someone who would look out for him made the doctor much more at ease.

"Sherlock tells me you two are off for lunch together. There's a nice Japanese place just around the corner I would recommend. Good sushi."

The brunet's posture straightened just a bit more at the mention of sushi and John could almost see his ears perking up under the hat.

"Cheers."

John and Sherlock headed off with a wave to Lestrade. When they were out of hearing range, Sherlock leaned down to John so he didn't have to yell to be heard over the traffic.

"Sushi has fish, doesn't it, John? Can we go?"

The doctor looked at Sherlock in surprise. The brunet hadn't expressed any particular fondness for fish before, but then there is that general impression that cats like fish.

"Yeah, sure. A lot of it will be raw, though. You OK with that?"

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, an added bounce to his step as he tugged on John's arm to hurry them along. Fish, lots of fish, and chopsticks he can use to impress John. Perfect.

 

  
**~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

John was due to start his new job a week later. He felt a bit nervous, not having had a civilian job since graduating university and joining the military. Instead of bullet wounds and extracting shrapnel, he was going to be dealing with colds and allergies. He stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down his tie and running his hand through his hair as Sherlock watched from the doorway, a glass of milk in his hands.

"You're worrying for no reason."

He met the brunet's gaze in the mirror.

"I'm not worried."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly not believing him. He walked up behind the shorter man, setting down the milk before he helped brush away some wrinkles in the back of the suit jacket.

"What are you going to be up to today? Any cases from Lestrade?"

"Just some cold ones, I'll look them over, should be done by the afternoon. Do you want dinner ready when you come home?"

The question made John have a strange sense of how domestic the scene was. He had someone waiting for him to come home now, someone who was willing to cook his meals and help with chores. Well, so long as Sherlock wasn't buried in an urgent case, anyway. It was an odd feeling, but pleasant. The doctor turned and gave the brunet a hug. Yes, coming back to a flat with Sherlock waiting was infinitely better than coming back to empty silence.

"If you have time. We can always do delivery if you don't feel like cooking. I'll be back around 5, try not to eat all the sweets in the fridge while I'm away, yeah?"

Sherlock blushed and ducked his head, digging his face against John's neck.

A few minutes later, the doctor was out the door and on his way to the clinic, briefcase in hand. Sherlock watched him from the window, fingering over the tag on his collar. John looked so ordinary out there, mingling with the rest of the population. No one realized how special he was.

Sherlock thought back to the day at the market, when he had almost been bought by the other man. John hadn't heard the entire conversation between the seller and the other customer, but Sherlock had. The man had described needing several hybrids for a night party, a euphemism for sex parties. Apparently the man had just finalized his divorce from his wife and was throwing a party to celebrate, so clearly he needed entertainers. He had zeroed in on Sherlock immediately and the brunet had seen the same hungry lust in his eyes his last owner possessed. When the seller had pulled him out of his cage to be inspected, Sherlock had been more or less resigned to his fate.

How was he suppose to know a certain doctor would step in? The price John had offered to pay stunned him, he wasn't worth 500 pounds, Sherlock was well aware. Actually, his last owner had lost him in a poker game to the seller who had no interest in bedding a hybrid, and so Sherlock had been put up for sale.

Sherlock was skilled in what he was trained for. His ability to pick up on details was a great asset. He could tell what was arousing to someone, what they didn't like, what to say for maximum effect, how to act to keep people happy. On the other hand, the same ability meant he knew just how to piss people off, how to make himself difficult and most unpleasant. Initially, he did the exact opposite of what his trainers wanted. If they wanted him submissive, he'd fight. If they wanted him to fight, he'd submit. If they preferred him quiet, he'd babble on and on. If they wanted him to talk, he'd keep deathly silent.

He took joy in frustrating his trainers and owner, until the beatings started. The time when they finally broke him, they had kept him locked in a room for two weeks. When they weren't in session, he was tied and caged. When they brought him out, they gave him strict and detailed orders. If they told him to crawl from one end of the room to the other in under 15 seconds, he had precisely 15 seconds to complete the task. If he took even half a second longer, he was hit or kicked. If he messed up severely, there was the whip.

The first few days had been brutal because the brunet had simply refused to follow orders. Sherlock came out of every session bruised, sometimes bloodied. He couldn't even sleep because his body hurt so much. The sound of the door opening would make him flinch and they had withheld food and water, using them as rewards only when he pleased his trainers and owner.

By the end of the two weeks Sherlock had learned how to hide himself away when he was expected to perform. He'd go through the actions, but his mind was blank. When his injuries had faded, his owner had held a "welcoming" party for him, inviting all his friends over to use Sherlock as they pleased. It went on for an entire evening into the early morning. By the end, Sherlock was barely conscious anymore and any pain had long faded leaving the brunet blissfully numb.

His owner had had other hybrids too, not all of them bedroom pets, but Sherlock had been his favourite toy. Possibly because the brunet had fought so much at the beginning, so it brought a great sense of triumph to his owner whenever he was able to reassert his dominance over his pet. He had possessed a vicious sadist streak, even towards his human partners, and whatever he couldn't do to other humans he did to Sherlock. One of his favourite past times had been to force screams out of the hybrid, seeing how long it took before his throat would be too hoarse to make anymore sounds.

Sherlock used to feel lucky if his owner even bothered shoving a few spit slicked fingers in him as preparation. Sometimes he'd just be kept stretched with a plug so that his owner could simply pull it out, take what he wanted and then push the device back in until next time. More than once, while either under the influence of alcohol or drugs or if the man felt particularly sadistic, his owner would simply push into him unstretched and unprepared at all. That had been unbearably painful.

The brunet hugged himself, still looking out the window although John's figure had long disappeared from view. Those were memories he wanted to keep locked, because heaven forbid if John were to ever find out. The doctor no doubt had an idea of what took place between Sherlock and his previous owner, but the details were something he didn't need to know. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his own ears. The touch made him remember John's hands, the gentle fingers stroking over the fur, his soft breath when the doctor whispered into them.

His blue eyes flicked to the bedroom, remembering the wonderful times they've shared. Now the room wasn't so bare as before. Sherlock liked reading in bed, so often there would be stacks of books on the bedside tables. He had also tacked up a poster of the periodic table of the elements on the wall for reference. John had bought Sherlock his own dresser to keep his clothes in, and on top of that Sherlock had placed some photos he had printed from his phone, mostly of himself with John. It was sentimental, but looking at them before going to bed, or when he woke up in the morning made him smile. Now it felt like two people lived in the flat, instead of one resident with a temporary guest.

Sherlock sat down in his armchair with his laptop just as his phone beeped with a message.

_New job, task 1; Office decorating. -J_

A photo was attached and Sherlock clicked open. John had taken a picture of his new office, the desk clean and tidy with just a computer, a few memo pads and pens. But right beside the computer, John had placed his first piece of decoration, a framed photo of himself and Sherlock Mrs. Hudson had taken. Inexplicably, the brunet felt a flood of warmth in his chest. Sherlock wasn't just the house pet John kept at home, the doctor had brought him to his workplace too. He smiled, his tail curling, he's going to make dinner extra yummy tonight.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 12 END** _

Short chapter, needed something fluffy after the smut :3

Going to add some drama and angst in the next two or three chapters. Hopefully by the 15th chapter we'll have met Mycroft.

Also, if you have a deep seated hatred for Sherlock's last owner by this point, rest assured. I have plans for John to meet the guy...revenge will taste sweet.  It's frustrating having these ideas floating around and then my fingers type too slowly to get them all down D:  Must type faster, lol.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and comments and kudos loved, loved, loved~ <3


	13. The Sushi Restaurant and The Welcome Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock head to a sushi restaurant and share some thoughts about the relationship between humans and hybrids.
> 
> Later, the pair go to John's welcome party where John's new colleagues get to meet our kitty.

 

A month passed quickly and the two occupants of 221B Baker Street became accustomed to their new routines. John worked Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and was on call Saturday if things were busy or if someone called in sick. On those days, Sherlock would get up to make him breakfast then send him off with a kiss. At lunch, John ate with his co-workers in the cafeteria, chattering about the goings on in their lives or about patients. Once five o'clock hit, he would pack up and head home. Usually he'd stop somewhere along the way to grab a treat for Sherlock. If the brunet was home, he would be greeted as soon as he walked in the door, the long limbs draping around him as Sherlock kisses and sniffed him over. They would then have dinner and spend the rest of the evening on their computers or watching telly.

Mrs. Hudson had mentioned more than once to John how lovely it was to see him with a new job and seeming to enjoy life more than she's ever seen him before. She had grown incredibly fond of the cat-eared resident rooming upstairs from her and when John was out she sometimes kept Sherlock company. They shared cooking recipes, and Sherlock made sure to make some extra for her whenever he tried making something new.

Sometimes Sherlock would be out when John went to the clinic, helping with cases. He made sure to always text John if he wasn't going to be home and when he came back his cheeks would be flushed with excitement, yearning to tell the doctor about his newest success. Lestrade started taking him on more complex cases, sometimes having him sit in on interviews since Sherlock was good at reading people. The two developed an easy relationship, bantering back and forth since Lestrade didn't seem to care that Sherlock was a hybrid. He gave strict orders to Sally Donovan that neither she, nor anyone else was to reveal Sherlock's secret and although the sergeant huffed and rolled her eyes, she kept quiet. It wasn't that she disliked hybrids, but having an outside personnel on their crime scenes made her nervous. Lestrade took a lot of liberties letting Sherlock join them and even giving him access to case files. If the general public found out, or someone higher up who was a stickler for the rules, they would all be in enormous trouble. Still, she grudgingly admitted that Sherlock's skills were helpful and the ratio of their cases solved had shot up thanks to the brunet.

At the clinic, John quickly became a popular doctor both with the patients and the other employees. People were drawn to his friendly, open demeanour and they enjoyed talking to him. Some were intrigued by his war stories, others wondered about the picture of the adorable hybrid he kept on his desk. He evaded questions about Sherlock as much as he could, although he would boast about the intelligence of the brunet with pride. Sometimes, the cases Sherlock helped with ended up in the papers, and the doctor was startled when a fellow doctor came up to him one day, showing him a big front page article about a thwarted bank robbery. A photo accompanied the article and when John looked closely he saw that in the background, standing between DI Lestrade and a police car was Sherlock, coat wrapped around him, collar up and hat firmly on his head. He looked quite intimidating, the dark trench coat accentuating his height as fierce eyes glared at the perpetrator.

"That's him, isn't it? That's your hybrid?"

John hesitated. Sherlock had tried so hard to conceal his animal traits for cases and the older man didn't feel like it was his place to tell others about it. Yet, at the same time, the picture was pretty clear, and one look at the photo on John's desk compared to the picture in the papers would confirm that that was indeed Sherlock.

"Uh...I'm not sure..."

"You said your hybrid sometimes helps Scotland Yard, right? That's got to be him. Wow! I didn't realize he was so tall from your photo."

John squirmed a bit in his chair.

"I guess it could be. He hadn't mention anything about a bank robbery case, though."

The other doctor gave him a look.

"With the amount of freedom you give him I'm surprised he hasn't just run away yet. Really, John, I have a hybrid too and if I don't keep him on a leash he gets into all sorts of trouble."

John frowned in distaste as he glanced to the other man's name tag. Will Benson.

"I've never had to leash Sherlock, he's not my pet."

Will laughed and patted John's back as he stood, leaving the newspaper on John's desk.

"Sure, mate. Whatever makes you happy. By the way, this Friday we're thinking to head out for a drink after work. If you're free, you should join us. We can make it into a welcome party for you."

Before John could refuse the invitation, Will strode out of the room with a wave. The blond haired man sighed and slumped in his chair. He hated those things, events that required him to have to deal with crowds of people. He would much rather spend a nice evening at home with Sherlock.

Glancing at the clock, John pulled out his phone and quickly typed out a message.

_Saw your photo in the papers today. Next time, smile. -J_

A moment later, his phone dinged with a reply.

_I didn't realize the photo was taken until too late. -S_

_Sounds like it was a pretty big case. -J_

_Lestrade told me not to tell anyone until the media broke it. -S_

_Ah. I was wondering why you didn't tell me about it. -J_

There was a delay before John got a response.

_I'm sorry. -S_

_Not angry, Sherlock, just curious. -J_

_Going to be home tonight? -J_

_Yes. Dinner requests? -S_

_Let's go out, celebrate your first time in the papers. -J_

_Won't you be tired after work? -S_

_Never too tired to have a nice dinner. Let's go to a sushi all-you-can-eat. -J_

_REALLY?! -S_

John laughed at the sudden enthusiasm.

_Yeah. Find a place for us, Sherlock. We'll go as soon as I get off work. -J_

_Operation Find Sushi is go. -S_

The doctor laughed again, all of a sudden feeling anxious for the day to end. He looked over his appointments list for the rest of the day, maybe he can finish early.

 

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

  
The restaurant buzzed with activity as the waiter seated John and Sherlock at a table. The establishment was decorated Japanese style with everyone sitting on tatami mats. The tables rose just high enough for them to slide their legs under and it would have been uncomfortable, except the area under the table was dug out, so their legs could dangle over the edge instead of being forced to cross their legs.

Sherlock sniffed the air, eyes dancing as he watched the servers walking back and forth, plates of sushi in hand. The smell of fish lingered in the air to his sensitive nose and it made him feel hungry.

John handed the menu over and Sherlock's tail thumped on the tatami mat in excitement.

"It's all-you-can-eat, so go ahead and order whatever you want."

Flipping through the menu, Sherlock bit his lip trying to decide.

"They have sashimi* John! Can I get the sashimi?"

The doctor took a sip of his water, smiling at Sherlock. He was really adorable when he got all excited, cheeks flushed and ears twitching uncontrollably.

"Sure. Careful with the wasabi this time."

Immediately Sherlock grimaced. The first time they went for Japanese, he had tried the wasabi with the soy sauce. It was way too spicy for his sensitive tongue and he ended up gulping down glass after glass of water trying to ease the burn.

"No wasabi this time," the brunet huffed with determination.

They ordered several types of sashimi, along with some nigirizushi* and makizushi* and miso soup to start, John feeling curious to try some of the odd looking dishes. He didn't frequent Japanese restaurants much, they tended to seem more luxurious than he was used to, but this place felt comfortable. Some of the items, like sea urchin eggs made him raise an eyebrow, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Sherlock twirled a chopstick between his fingers as they waited, eyes studying John.

"So someone at your work figured out that it was your hybrid in the newspaper photo, hm?"

The doctor blinked and then nodded. No use trying to hide it from Sherlock.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I'll just have to be more careful about staying away from media cameras."

John's mouth turned downwards a bit as he recalled the conversation with Will. He really wished Sherlock didn't have to hide a secret like this. He should be able to proudly tell everyone that he was the one behind all those solved cases, hybrid or human.

"Something else happened at work...you look upset," a long arm reached across the table and took John's hand in his. Inquisitive eyes scanned over the older man's face, trying to decipher what he saw, "Someone said something...about me."

John sighed and clasped his fingers around Sherlock's hand.

"One my my colleagues mentioned being surprised you haven't run away since I didn't keep a leash on you," he muttered unhappily.

The brunet rolled his eyes and squeezed John's hand comfortingly. The doctor really did get so sensitive where Sherlock was concerned. He hated being reminded at all of the immense power he held over another life.

"John, it's OK, you don't have to let what other people say about me bother you. I don't mind, I've dealt with a lot worse."

The older man brought their joined hands up, pressing his lips to Sherlock's knuckles.

"That doesn't make it OK. I hate when people see you as some property. You're brilliant and amazing and just...wonderful, but all they see is the damn collar around your neck. How can they do that?"

Sherlock purred at the praises and clasped the tag on his collar in his free hand. They were created to be used as property, he wanted to reply. Humans loved to play God, having control over the lives of others, they sought power even within their own species. In history humans have found ways to own other humans as property too. Now, however, they couldn't anymore, in an attempt to look good and humane, they banned the practice of owning other humans, but that desire to hold ultimate power over another life never ceased. So they found other ways.

Owning animal pets was OK, but they didn't talk back, and they were so much weaker than humans physically that any sign of disobedience could be stamped down easily with a harsh word. Humans didn't want power over weak creatures, that caused them to feel protective instead of triggering the desire for power, they needed something more.

Hybrids filled that need perfectly. They looked and functioned enough like humans to satisfy the desire for dominance, and yet they looked different enough so that humans didn't feel like they were making use of other humans. Ultimate power over a life that was like them, and yet not them. It was perfect, it hit all the right buttons, and so hybrids were bred with the sole purpose of satisfying that desire. It wasn't fair, but little was and Sherlock had long realized that fact. Some humans were born in royal palaces, fawned over and beloved by millions even when they're drooling babies. Other humans were born in the slums, unknown and with little chance of surviving past a year old. Both humans, both lives, living in two worlds.

Likewise, some species were placed high on the food chain, dominating over all others. Others were at the bottom, meant to serve and live only at the will of those who dominated over them. The relationship between humans and hybrids was an artificial one since hybrids were not natural and born only through human technology. That meant humans, as the dominants in this relationship, held all the power to define that relationship.

"John, the first thing you saw when you were born was probably the face of your mother as she smiled down at you. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes for the first time were the bars of a cage. You probably felt the arms of your parents holding you. I felt rubber gloved hands snapping a collar around my neck. That's why they can do that, because we're...different. Humans are born to be loved, hybrids...we're created to be owned."

Sherlock's voice was soft, eyes on the table as he gently stroked his tag. He didn't even know if he could function if he wasn't owned. If suddenly he was given the power to decide things, to go wherever, do whatever, he'd be utterly lost. Although John gave him many freedoms, he still knew who he belonged to, he can gauge the appropriateness of his actions by John's reactions and adjust accordingly. Free will came with huge responsibilities, and hybrids were simply incapable of coping with that since they were never taught how to from the moment they leave the incubator.

John shook his head harshly, denying the claim.

"No, Sherlock, I know that's what you were told, that you had to obey humans, but it's not true. You have more value than as mere property, all hybrids do. Lives are not properties, they can't be owned."

The brunet smiled at John, although he couldn't keep out the sadness in them. The doctor was clearly a romantic to sound so convinced of his words. Perhaps, in theory, that was the case, but the reality contradicted them vehemently.

"Uh...e-excuse me..."

The uncertain words made John and Sherlock jump as they realized their waiter was standing beside their table, a tray full of food in his hands. Quickly, he set the plates down, blushing before he hurried away to leave the two alone.

Sherlock looked over the food, the excitement from earlier having evaporated. He shuffled around the table and cuddled up beside John who wrapped an arm around his shoulders, kissing his hair and ears.

"Come on, let's eat then."

Unwilling to move, Sherlock opened his mouth causing John to chuckle as he took a piece of fish and fed it to the brunet. They ate the rest of their meal quietly, both thinking over what they had talked about.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~**

 

"Sherlock, I am not going."

"Yes, you are."

"But why?"

"Because it will help you guild a good rapport with your colleagues. It's just dinner and some drinks, what's the big deal?"

"It requires small talk and forced conversation."

"Nonsense, just regale them with your war stories, they never tire of that."

"I'd rather not."

"Fine, then tell them about me. They're all itching to ask you anyway, feed their gossip mills."

"What? How do you know that?"

"You live with a hybrid who runs around Scotland Yard's crime scenes. Of course they want to ask you about it."

"Well it's none of their business."

The doctor grouched leaning against his armchair, arms crossed as he sulked at Sherlock. The brunet was sitting in front of his laptop, legs scrunched up on the chair. With a sigh as if he was dealing with a stubborn child, Sherlock turned his head to look at John. It was Friday night and the doctor had just gotten home when he had received a message from Will reminding him about the get together tonight. Before he could tap out a reply, Sherlock had seen the message and tried to convince him to go.

"Just throw them a bone to gnaw on."

"What if you came with me?"

That suggestion made Sherlock pause. Go out with John to meet his colleagues? His eyes flickered between the doctor and his computer screen, weighing his options. The older man strode over, one of his hands tilting Sherlock's head up so that he could kiss the soft lips.

"Come with me. Let me show off the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, yeah?"

Blue eyes widened and he threw his arms around John, pulling him down for a deeper kiss. He moaned against the doctor's mouth, feeling a flush of pleasure settling in him.

It wasn't until John's phone rang again that they broke apart, lips red and eyes dark.

"So you'll come then?"

The tall hybrid nodded, closing his laptop and standing up. He straightened his clothes as John quickly replied to Will that yes, he was coming and Sherlock was coming along. The brunet checked himself in the mirror, congratulating himself on having worn the purple shirt today. It was a lovely shade on him and he noticed John always breathed a bit harder when he wore it. Long fingers ruffled his hair into some semblance of order and made sure the fur on his ears and tail wasn't sticking up anywhere. Sherlock wanted to look good for John, he wanted to make the doctor proud.

A few minutes later they caught a cab to the pub where the get together was being held.

As soon as they walked through the door, a voice called out.

"John! Over here!"

The doctor and his companion looked over where a lovely woman waved at them, smiling.

"Ah, Sarah, hello."

They headed over as the members of the party scooted, making room for the latecomers. There were about ten people in total, sitting around a round table, chattering with drinks and some food.

"We were just getting started, good timing," Sarah beamed at John as she waved over a waiter, "Drinks?"

"Oh, uh, I'll just have a soda, thanks," he looked at Sherlock who got a bit panicked. This was his first time in a pub and he didn't know what was expected of him.

"Two sodas," John corrected himself as Sherlock turned pleading eyes to him, not knowing what to order.

"Two sodas? Are you driving?" Will asked across from them.

"Ah, no, no, just starting easy. Oh, this is Sherlock everyone."

A round of "hello"s went up as all eyes turned to the brunet. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to look back but it was difficult. Some of them were warm gazes, curious but benign, others were more suspicious, mouths twisted in a frown. They all scanned over his ears and collar and it made him feel like he was on display.

"So you're the hybrid John's so obsessed with. He says you've got a keen eye for details."

"Well no wonder he's so drawn to you, those ears are absolutely darling. Look how the fur shines."

"I think some of the ladies at the clinic are jealous of all the attention John puts on you, Sherlock."

"Sherlock is such an interesting name, does it mean anything?"

A manicured finger touched his tail and Sherlock squeaked, earning some chuckles as the woman beside him inspected his tail.

"Oh it's so soft, how lovely. You know, my Lilly would be so jealous of you. She's also a cat hybrid like you. I'm actually thinking of buying another one to keep her company."

"The cat ones are always needy for attention. That's why I prefer my rabbit. He just needs me to feed him once a day and it's done. Usually just huddles in the corner."

"Well that's no fun, my Danny loves to play. I love going out for walks with him and having him chase the ball. Sometimes it gets stuck in a tree and watching him trying to get it is most amusing."

Sherlock tried desperately not to feel drowned in the flood of attention. He attempted to answer questions as best as he could, but kept leaning closer and closer to John.

The doctor frowned hard as he heard the things being said, taking Sherlock's hand in his under the table and squeezing it gently. The brunet clung to him so hard it hurt, and John cleared his throat loudly.

Sarah seemed to sense John and Sherlock's discomfort and she quickly waved a hand to stop everyone from talking.

"Whoa, whoa, one at a time guys. Let's not overwhelm the poor dear. Sherlock, John said you sometimes help out with Scotland Yard, that is amazing. You must be awfully clever."

The brunet took several deep breathes, trying to calm himself before he lifted his eyes to look back at Sarah.

"S-sometimes. I just notice things easier because of my...," he made a motion to his ears.

"Well, John must trust you awfully to let you run around the city on your own, all the hybrids I know would either run away or they're too broken to try," a sarcastic voice sneered.

John glared over at the man who said that, feeling Sherlock take a sharp inhale of breath at the implication.

"Do your friends run away too if you don't keep them on a leash?" The doctor snapped back.

A few people laughed as the skinny man flushed. He set sharp eyes on John, fingers tapping the table. John knew him as Ken but he hadn't spoken to him before aside from introductions.

"Hybrids aren't friends, they're pets. Pets are better kept on leashes."

"Some hybrids are more admirable than some humans can ever be," John ground out from clenched teeth.

Everyone watched them throw concealed barbs at each other like a tennis match when, suddenly, a deep voice broke through.

"John has been...most kind since I've come under his care," Sherlock turned his gaze to the man beside him and John looked back, eyes immediately softening, "He's the kindest, wisest and bravest human being I've had the privilege to know."

Some of the ladies gasped, hands clutching their chest as they looked at the pair. John smiled and gently ruffled Sherlock's hair. He heard some of the people scoff but chose to ignore them, feeling too happy at the moment to care.

"Aww, that's lovely. You're delightful, Sherlock, and John's lucky to have you," Sarah exclaimed, blushing softly, "Come on everyone, let's eat! It's a party after all."

People shook themselves out of the moment to grab their forks and plates. Sherlock shifted just a bit closer to John before they joined the others.

As the alcohol made its way around, people began loosening up. Sherlock found himself cornered by two women, one wearing a blue dress and the other in a pants suit, along with a short man in his fifties.  All of them were more than just a bit tipsy.

"So, Sherlock, you're like...a detective then? A hybrid detective? Haha, how wonderful," the man laughed.

The brunet forced a smile, trying to be friendly, he didn't want to insult any of these people since they worked with John.

"You know, I could use a detective, there's been a shitload of things missing from my house recently. Husband insists I'm just misplacing them, but I swear I'm not! He's such a prick," the woman in the dress sulked.

Sherlock hurriedly righted the woman as she slumped forward, almost falling.

"Oh, haha, oopsie, thank you dear~!"

"So do you go and sniff out dead bodies for the NSY, then? Like a sniffer dog?" The man asked after drinking more of his beer.

"Oh Dale, don't be ridiculous. Sherlock is a CAT, not a dog. Isn't that right, Sherlock dear? Look at those adorable ears," teasing fingers flicked his ears as the woman in blue said that, making the brunet twitch.

"I think my Lilly would so love to meet you, maybe I can convince John to loan you to me for a weekend some time," the woman in the pants suit pondered.

"Sherlock, Sherlock darling, won't you help me find my missing...stuff?"

The brunet licked his lips and sighed softly as he was tugged this way and that.

"Um...what are you missing?"

"Oh just jewelry stuffs, you know, some rings, necklaces, lost a brooch too."

Sherlock frowned as he thought.

"Do you have an photos of the items?"

The woman dug in her purse, digging out her phone.

"Hmm...I think I've got photos of me wearing some of them...oh look, this was me and my husband's trip last week to France. It was so delightful, delicious food, absolutely scrumptious!"

She shoved the phone into Sherlock's face to show him and he took a step back so his eyes could focus.

"Oh Julie's husband is such a doll, he takes her to all these exotic places just for weekend getaways," the pants suit lady grumbled.

Julie laughed airily, scrolling through more photos.

"Oh but just recently, love. You know I don't know what happened but these past few months he's been so eager to travel, says it's good and makes us sound cultured. Ah, here's us last month in Spain, and before that we went to Egypt."

Sherlock frowned harder as he looked at picture after picture of the red haired woman clinging to the arm of her husband. Both of them were smiling in every photo, but something was off. The brunet took the phone and checked a few more photos, comparing them.

"You said your husband insisted you were just misplacing the jewelry?"

"Yes, isn't that awful? I mean one or two pieces, sure, but I can't be THAT scatterbrained."

Sherlock looked over to try and find John. He had already figured out where the woman's missing jewelry was, but he didn't know if it was OK for him to make deductions about John's colleagues. The doctor had been herded by Sarah to the bar where the two sat, chatting and laughing. Clearly, John had started in on the alcohol too and already it was lowering his shields.

"Your husband's started botox injections in the past few months, he's also lost a lot of weigh from what I can see in these photos. He's taken to paying more attention to his looks recently, all signs of an affair. It would stand to reason that he's been taking your jewelry to give to the mistress, passing them off as gifts he bought for her. But his feelings of guilt towards you have been motivating him to take you on these trips abroad to ease his own conscience."

He handed the phone back to a stunned Julie, taking a drink from his soda.

"WH-WHAT?!?!"

The shrill exclamation made everyone else in their vicinity freeze and look over.

"HE'S HAVING AN AFFAIR??!"

Sherlock nodded.

"It would appear so. I noticed on your phone he's texted you several times since you've been here. He's most likely with his mistress now and was texting to make sure you were still here so he wouldn't be caught."

The woman's eyes flooded with tears as she gasped, looking for a moment like she was going to faint before she twirled around, face red with anger and stormed out the door.

"Julie! Julie wait!"

The other woman who had been talking to Sherlock hurried after her, looking worried and slightly horrified.

Slowly, people started conversing again, their voices hushed as they tried to figure out what had happened. John quickly came up beside Sherlock and gave him a confused look.

"What was that about?"

The brunet shrugged.

"She asked me to find some missing jewelry. Turns out her cheating husband had been squirrelling them to the mistress. I...guess she didn't like the answer."

John's eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief.

"What?! Oh god, Sherlock...you can't tell people those things."

The furry ears twitched and flattened a bit, blue eyes looking confused.

"Why not? She asked, I answered...besides shouldn't she be happy to find out her husband's going behind her back? Now she can divorce him."

The doctor sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Sherlock, people...people aren't that simple. It hurts to find out someone you love has betrayed you like that."

Now the ears drooped completely and Sherlock dropped his head.

"Oh...not...not good then."

John gently hugged Sherlock, petting his hair.

"Well it's not that your deductions were not good, it's just...break these news more gently, yeah? Feelings are fragile."

Sherlock snuggled into him, taking advantage of the fact that everyone else was too busy getting drunk to notice.

"O-OK..."

By the time the party broke up, news of what Sherlock had done had made its way around. Some people were impressed with his cleverness, others were shocked at his bluntness. It was early morning when John and Sherlock finally managed to get back home. Both of them were exhausted and they collapsed on the bed immediately after washing up. It had been a long day and both of them cuddled together, falling asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 13 END** _

*Sashimi = Slices of raw fish. Literally, they're just slices of raw fish you dip in soy sauce and eat.  
*Nigirizushi = A piece of oblong sushi rice pressed in the palm, topped with a piece of raw fish (or squid or other seafood of your choice).  
*Makizushi = Roll sushi  
(Checki wikipedia for "types of sushi" if you want pictures)

 

Onward we trudge!

I used Sherlock's deductions in one of the cases he took on in The Empty Hearse for his deductions here about the woman's husband having an affair.  Some deep philosophical thoughts here from Sherlock about humans, quite a cynic, isn't he?  But then I guess that's to be expected given the life he's led.  

I got a flood of comment notifications for the last chapter, WOW.  Thank you guys SO MUCH <3 Love you all~!


	14. The Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A colleague gets unusually close to John which sparks off some unpleasantness in Sherlock. 
> 
> WARNING!!!  
> DRAMA!! ANGST!!  
> Sherlock hurt both emotionally and physically.  
> Don't say I didn't warn you!!

 

Sherlock sat in front of his laptop, re-reading the page in front of him for the fifth time. He couldn't focus, nothing he was reading was being processed in his mind. With a frustrated sigh, he got up and walked to the window of the living room, pulling the curtains aside to look outside. It was Sunday, a day when John was usually home, but today the doctor had been called out. Absently, Sherlock tugged at one of his ears, wishing John was here to pet him.

It had been about three weeks since the party and slowly Sherlock had noticed something happening. The doctor had began coming home smelling of perfume, which wasn't that unusual since some of his female colleagues wore it daily, but now it was stronger and it was the same brand every day. A few times Sherlock caught sight a few strands of hair clinging to John's shirt, long and bleached blond. Then came the day when he noticed the small, smudged lipstick smudge on John's shirt collar. It was a subtle pink and easy to miss, but Sherlock's sharp eyes zeroed in on it as soon as the man had entered the door. He knew who it was, the lady from the party who had been wearing the pants suit. Victoria, John had told him her name was. Sherlock had noticed the way her eyes were drawn to John through that evening, but he hadn't said anything, apparently the attraction had continued past that night.

The brunet felt conflicted at his findings. His previous owner had had various relationships with men and women too, he hadn't felt anything negative about that. Actually, it had been somewhat of a relief since it meant his owner's attention would be more on his human partner, so he was more likely to leave Sherlock alone. Bedroom hybrids were meant for physical release, it didn't interfere with owners pursuing actual relationships with other humans.

Sherlock knew this. A human and a hybrid in an actual romantic relationship was unheard of. John may be a kind owner who allowed Sherlock many freedoms, but it was still the relationship of an owner and pet. Just because they've had sex now doesn't mean that he had the right to demand John not to pursue other relationships. That would be absurd. Yet he had to force himself not to bare his teeth when John had told him Victoria had asked him to help her move some furniture two weeks ago. Or when she had begged him to come to a family dinner to "act" as her boyfriend in order to pacify her nosey relatives. Or when she offered to take him to a "wonderful new Italian place" as a thank you for his help. And now...now John was out with her to pick out a new car, since she wanted a "man's opinion" to find a good vehicle. Sherlock had no doubt she will not be buying any new cars anytime soon, and he wondered if John really couldn't see what was happening.

But why did that even matter? Even if John knew, it wasn't Sherlock's place to say anything. He bit down on his tongue and shut the curtains. This was ridiculous, why was he acting like this? Didn't John give him enough already? Why did he have to be so ungrateful? He couldn't demand all of his owner's attention and time, it was natural John would seek companionship with other humans. Someday the doctor would want to get married, have kids, buy a house. Even if he did keep Sherlock around that far into the future, the brunet would just be the family pet, that was all.

Sherlock huffed and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Well, since he had all afternoon free, he might as well get dinner started.

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

When Sherlock heard the front door open, it was already dark out. Dinner had been set on the table for a few hours, but John hadn't replied to any of his texts. Sherlock sat in his armchair, legs curled up against his chest, head resting on his knees as he waited. He didn't move as he listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs...two sets of footsteps.

Two voices.

Laughing and joking as they got closer.

"Oh that last one handled beautifully! I do wish it was within my price range."

"It was lovely, wasn't it? Well, I'm sorry we couldn't find any to your liking."

"Oh no worries, we can try again another time. Lots of car dealers around London."

Sherlock growled low in his throat but he bit it off as John and his guest appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, Sherlock! Sorry I'm back so late. We got some cheesecake for you."

John smiled at him, walking over and kissing the top of his head. The doctor put a small box on the arm rest of the chair before heading to the desk. The older man pulled out his phone and plugged it in to charge before shrugging out of his coat and going to help Victoria with her's.

"That was my fault, I kept him out late to test drive a few of the cars we liked. Oh, but it was worth it, we found this darling diner on one of the drives, most delicious chips I've ever had."

Sherlock's ears twitched as he blinked at John.

"You...you had dinner already?"

Both humans nodded.

"Yeah, it was getting late and we got peckish. I tried to text you but my phone was dead and Victoria had forgotten her phone at home. Oh, that cheesecake is from the diner, we should go sometime, Sherlock, you'll love it."

The brunet looked away, feeling a flood of something incredibly unpleasant welling up inside him. He took his tail in hand, squeezing tightly and hoping the pain will stop him from saying anything he will regret. From the kitchen doorway, he heard a small exclamation from John.

"Oh, you cooked dinner. Darn, I'm sorry, Sherlock, I wish I could have told you to eat without me."

Sherlock took a deep breath and shrugged, "Doesn't matter, I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow."

The doctor headed into the kitchen with an apologetic smile at the brunet, with Victoria following him closely.

"John, your flat is adorable. Thank you so much for letting me stay the night," her sickly sweet voice purred.

"Wh-what?" That caught Sherlock's attention as he sat up straighter, eyes wide.

John opened the fridge and took out some juice, pouring a glass for himself and his guest.

"They're doing some construction near Victoria's place, so it's been keeping her up at night, I told her it's OK for her to stay with us tonight. We have the spare bedroom upstairs after all."

This time, Sherlock's ears flatted to his head and he growled.

"John, don't be dense. Clearly this woman is trying to bed you, I'll take the spare bedroom tonight and you can give the lady what she wants."

Silence.

The flat went deadly silent.

John and Victoria stared at Sherlock in shock, eyes wide and mouths open. Sherlock, in turn, glared back, feeling slightly terrified that he had said that, but too fuelled up with anger to care.

The doctor took a step towards him and Sherlock flinched. Riding on adrenaline, his hand reached out and he pushed the box of cheesecake to the floor.

"Sherlock!"

John's voice was tinged with anger and disbelief.

The brunet jumped up, standing on the chair, tail swishing wildly behind him.

"But before you sleep with her, John, you should know that she is drawn to money. At the party, she clearly expressed jealousy for Julie's husband because he takes her abroad often, and Victoria's ex-husband didn't.

Oh, yes, she was married, you can still see where the wedding ring used to be. The skin there is lighter than the surrounding area. Also, she wears a lot of expensive jewelry, very expensive. Just look at those diamond earrings, with matching necklace! But they're old, the designs are not recent and she hasn't had the time or money to care for them properly. So her ex-husband must have been well-off. Bought her all these things, but she couldn't afford them after the divorce.

How do I know she can't afford them herself? Her perfume. Her perfume smells expensive, but actually it's from a much cheaper brand made to imitate the expensive lines. Good choice though, human noses can barely make out the difference, but it's easy enough for me. But Victoria, really, your efforts are wasted, John doesn't care about perfume. Actually, he prefers more neutral, subtle products, so ditch the perfume and let's tone down the bleach in the hair, yes?"

Sherlock's words were like bullets, piercing the air. With each revelation, Victoria's face turned a deeper shade of red. By the end it was a miracle she hadn't burst into flames.

John was frozen to the spot for a few seconds as his brain processed Sherlock's spitfire words.

"SHERLOCK!!"

He yelled at the brunet, storming to the chair and pulling the angry hybrid down. Without thinking, he brought his hand back and was just about to bring it across Sherlock's cheek when the brunet's expression changed. Blue eyes grimaced and clenched shut, his body jerking back as if already hit. He braced himself for the impact, knowing he fully deserved it for what he had done.

John swallowed down his anger and clenched his hand into a fist, shakily bringing it down to his side. No, he can't hit Sherlock. That would be unforgivable given what the brunet had been through.

"Sherlock Holmes, apologize. That was entirely uncalled for."

The doctor's voice was steady, low, a deadly threat that this was an order to be obeyed.

Defiantly, Sherlock stepped back, yanking himself out of John's grip.

"It was all true!"

"Sherlock Holmes, apologize. NOW. You have no right to talk to Victoria that way!"

Sherlock swallowed as he felt tears in his eyes. No, of course he didn't. He didn't have any right to speak at all, that was a privilege granted by his owner. He glared at John, then lifting his eyes to Victoria who was still standing by the kitchen, seemingly comatose from shock.

"Sorry," the brunet practically hissed the word out before he side stepped John and ran out of the flat.

Sherlock slammed the front door, not bothering to lock it as he raced down Baker Street. The darkness outside offered some protection and the brunet felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He had done it now, now John was really angry at him. Will the doctor sell him? Toss him out? Leave him on the streets to fend for himself? Stray hybrids were illegal, they had to have collars and an owner. He would be rounded up and sent to the police, sold at rock bottom price if he was lucky, donated to science labs if he wasn't.

What had come over him? How had he let his emotions get away from him so disastrously? He had managed to bury everything related to feelings for so long, why did he fail now?

'I told you not to get attached, I warned you. You didn't listen. Caring's not an advantage. Stop caring,' a familiar voice in his head mocked, 'You didn't listen...stop caring...stop caring, Sherlock.'

The brunet let out a choked sob as he ran into the park he and John used to take their afternoon walks in. A few streetlights lined the footpath, but other areas were pitch black. Sherlock huddled down under a tree, curling up and hugging his legs to his chest. He pressed his forehead to his knees, the cries making his body tremble. In his pocket, his phone rang but Sherlock ignored it, knowing it will be John. He couldn't talk to the man right now, maybe he should just disappear. After all that John had given him, he had completely turned on the man, like a dog biting the hand that feeds it.

Sherlock's ears drooped and he grabbed them angrily, pulling until they hurt. He hated them, hated himself, hated everything.

'Worthless, used, pathetic waste of space,' those were the words his last owner always used when Sherlock failed to please.

'You're replaceable, slut. Disposable, expendable, and completely replaceable,' he would taunt if Sherlock hesitated to do anything he asked.

Everything hurt. Inside, outside, every breath caused pain, and it pierced him deeper than any pain he had ever felt with his previous owners. How had John managed to hurt him so much with only words? It didn't make sense.

"Aw...is kitty having a bad day?" A voice asked sarcastically.

Sherlock's head snapped up as he tried to see through the darkness. Vaguely, he could make out four shapes, and as they came closer he smelled them. Humans, males, four of them, inebriated.

The brunet sniffed and rubbed the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes, brushing away the tears.

"I'm..I'm fine. I'm waiting for my owner," he tried to keep his voice confident, but it came out shaky.

"Did your owner make you cry, sweetheart? We'll make it all better."

Sherlock could almost hear the leer in his voice as he backed up, pressing himself to the tree.

"N-no! Leave me alone!"

"Aw, don't be like that. We'll make sure you enjoy it, honey."

A flush of fear raced through the brunet and he lunged up, running for the streets. He heard the footsteps behind him, giving chase as they taunted and teased him.

"Oh come on darling!! Don't run away!! Let's have some fun!"

A hand grabbed onto his tail and jerked him back, sending a spike of pain up his spine.

"AH!!"

Laughter erupted as Sherlock stumbled to his knees, hands hitting the cement of the footpath hard, Immediately he was surrounded, one person keeping his grip on his tail as the others circled around. He felt a hand tracing over the back of his neck finding the collar pulling at it.

"So you're owned, well your owner must be pretty pathetic for you to run out like this. Let me guess, he couldn't satisfy you in bed? Not enough passion? Let's see if we can't rectify that."

Before Sherlock could do anything, the hand moved into his hair, grabbing a handful of his curls and yanked his head up. A mouth fell over his own and a slippery tongue pushed in making him gag. Sherlock panicked and started clawing, biting down as hard as he could.

The man fell back with a pained grunt and within the same heartbeat Sherlock felt the palm of a hard hand land across his cheek. The brunet mewled as he tumbled to the ground, face throbbing. He froze when he felt the cold hardness of a blade being pressed to his throat, eyes going wide.

"What the fuck! Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Sherlock felt another blade being pressed to the base of his tail and he whimpered, mewling loudly.

"SHUT UP! Shut up or I'll cut it off," another voice threatened.

The knife at his throat slid down, the point digging into his skin. When it reached the collar the man slid the blade under the leather and pulled, cutting the fabric in two. The brunet mewled desperately, hands quickly grabbing the collar so it wouldn't fall to the ground. His collar...the collar John had bought for him, the collar they had chosen together. Sherlock felt anger boiling inside him and he lunged forward, catching the men off guard. He aimed his teeth at the perpetrator's neck, clamping his jaws down until he tasted blood.

How dare they? How dare they first insult John and now cut the symbol of John's ownership over him?!

Screams erupted and hands quickly pinned Sherlock face down in the dirt. He growled and hissed, clawing and kicking. A fist landed on the side of his head and he screamed, unwilling to go down without a fight. These men had no business touching him, he was John's! And until the doctor sells him to another, he still belonged to John.

"Goddamn piece of garbage! Stop moving!"

Another punch, this time to his side below the ribs. The hits rained down and each time Sherlock only struggled harder.

Suddenly, a searing pain spiked him where his tail joined his body. It felt like someone was trying to rip the appendage off. The brunet howled, crying as the pain stunned his nerves and he felt all his muscles spasming. Reaching back, his hand met with wet warmth and he realized they had cut his tail. He didn't know if they had cut if entirely off, but he couldn't move it anymore.

Without warning, a loud shot rang in the night air and the four attackers froze. A second passed and the man holding the bloodied knife slumped to the ground, a pool of blood seeping out from beneath him. Clean shot, straight through the heart. The remaining three attackers frantically looked around, trying to see where the source was but before they could see anything another shot filled the air. This time the man who had cut Sherlock's collar was knocked back, landing on his back, eyes wide with a hole in his forehead. The remaining two leaped to their feet and ran just as a third bullet was propelled through the air, catching one of them in the arm. He yowled but was dragged along by his companion and the two raced away into the darkness.

Sherlock stayed where he was, unable to move as he cried into the dirt. His body hurt so badly, and he could feel the blood pooling where his tail laid, useless.

"SHERLOCK!!"

A panicked voice called as hurried steps came up beside him. The brunet felt the presence of someone kneeling at his side and he tried lifting his head to see.

John.

John's smell.

John's voice.

John was here.

Trembling, Sherlock lifted the hand that still clung to his cut up collar, more tears falling.

"J-John...th...they c-cut...my collar...'m sorry..."

Sirens sounded in the distance and grew closer as John forced himself to swallow his tears. Oh god, what had they done to his Sherlock? He wrapped his hands around Sherlock's and bent down to kiss his ears.

"Oh love, don't worry about that. We'll get you a new one, yeah? A better one."

He stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair, inspecting the damage. The brunet's clothes hid most of his injuries, but the most brutal was his tail. His attackers had sliced it right at the base, detaching the appendage almost halfway through. John quickly ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of his own shirt and wrapped it to the based of Sherlock's tail. He needed to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it until the paramedics arrived.

The brunet whimpered in pain and clawed at the ground.

"It'll be OK, Sherlock, stay with me, the ambulance will be here soon, they're on their way."

Sherlock mewled and tried to look back to see John.

"I'm...I'm sorry...John...at the...flat...I'm sorry..."

The doctor's eyes misted, watching Sherlock struggle to apologize even in his current state. He gently ran one hand over Sherlock's back, keeping his other hand pressed against the injured tail.

"Shh...don't think about that anymore, don't worry about any of it anymore, love. Just...Just stay with me, OK? I n-need you...with me," the older man stumbled over the words, feeling his throat tightening.

The thought of losing Sherlock was unbearable. When he had spotted the group of men ganging up on the brunet his heart had stopped and without thinking he had open fired. Damn the consequences.

As the paramedics finally arrived and raced towards them, John gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze. The brunet's going to be OK, he has to be. John can't lose him.

 

* * *

  
**_CHAPTER 14 END_ **

*Hides*

I'M SO SORRY T__T

But how did John know where to find Sherlock? Why did he bring his gun? We shall find out in the next chapter!!


	15. The Mysterious 'M'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone comes to see John at the hospital, someone who knows a lot about him and Sherlock.

 

The ride to the hospital was brutal. Sherlock laid on the stretcher, gasping and whimpering every time someone even brushed over his tail. John held his hand tightly, stroking through his sweat soaked locks as the paramedics tried to rescue the torn appendage. The brunet bit his lip, trying so hard not to voice his pain.

At the park, the police had shown up with the ambulance. Lestrade was there as John had requested and he had been horrified at what he saw. The DI took one look at the two dead attackers and quietly told John to go with Sherlock to the hospital. He will process the shooting later, but right now he knew how much Sherlock needed John beside him.

The doctor gave the DI a grateful nod, quickly giving a description of the two that had ran away to the best of his ability and Lestrade promised he'll hunt the two bastards down.

"J..Jo..hn...?"

The older man looked down into Sherlock's tearful eyes, leaning down to hear him better.

"Yeah? I'm here, Sherlock."

The brunet swallowed and clutched John's hand.

"M..my tail..."

John looked over where a medic was holding a towel to the base, the blood soaking through the fabric and tinting it pink.

"They just need to reconnect the nerves and it'll be as good as new. Don't worry Sherlock, you won't lose it."

A whimper fell from Sherlock's lips and he looked so pained that John felt compelled to lean in and kiss his temple.

"Can't...can't they...just...cut it off?"

The doctor's eyes grew wide as his mouth fell open. Sherlock wanted to...? He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, pushing back the tears.

"Sherlock, your tail's beautiful...it's too beautiful to be cut off. What will you use to hold my wrist? What will you use to wrap around us when we fall asleep?"

The brunet sobbed and buried his face into the small pillow on the stretcher.

John's heart broke at the sight and he saw the medic glancing at them, frowning with sadness as he watched. Gentle fingers stroked the mess of curls as soft lips kissed over the drooping ears.

No one said anything more until they reached the hospital where Sherlock was quickly rolled into surgery. John desperately wanted to go in but the nurses kept him out, assuring him that they will take care of the brunet. The blond haired man paced the hall back and forth, until he looked down and realized his hands and shirt were covered in blood. Sherlock's blood. It had dried by now, but the scent filled the doctor's nostrils and he gagged, stumbling to the bathroom where he threw up into the toilet.

If he had gotten there just a bit later...would Sherlock still be alive now? What if he had lost Sherlock? What would he do? How would he ever forgive himself knowing that the last words he had said to the brunet were words of anger?

Taking a shaky breath, John washed his hands and, splashed some water on his face before heading back to wait.

He sat down in one of the plastic chairs outside the operation room, fingers tapping the armrest nervously. The doctors had said Sherlock would be OK, since the injury was fresh they should be able to reattach the tail without any complications.

Sherlock's words in the ambulance, however, troubled John more. The brunet had wanted to get rid of the appendage entirely, his voice had almost been pleading for John to tell the medics to cut it off completely. For him to hate a part of himself so much, John worried just how deep that self-hatred went inside the brunet.

The doctor's phone dinged and John frowned, suddenly remembering something. The reason he had gone to the park, the reason he had gone armed with his gun, that was all thanks to a text message too. He quickly pulled his phone from his pocket.

Blocked number.

_Well done, Dr. Watson. -M_

John scrolled back to the previous message he had gotten, also from a blocked number.

_The park near your flat. Bring your gun. -M_

He had gotten that message back at Baker Street.

After Sherlock had run out of the flat, Victoria had made a hasty retreat, telling him she would stay in a hotel for the night. John didn't try to stop her as she left. He thought Sherlock would come back after a while, but as the minutes ticked by he grew more and more worried. John had tried calling but his call went unanswered and he didn't know where to even begin looking. Where would Sherlock go when he was angry? The brunet didn't know anyone well enough to just show up at their door.

John glanced at his computer and hesitated. He could use the GPS tracker that was in the tag. It came as a minimum requirement for all hybrid tags, but John couldn't help feeling it was some kind of invasion of privacy. If Sherlock wanted to be left alone, how was it fair for John to go tracking him down? He wouldn't do it to another human, and if he really wanted to treat Sherlock more than just a pet, then he shouldn't have the right to do that to the brunet.

As the doctor was see-sawing between his options, his phone had rung. At first the man thought it was from Sherlock, but after reading it he felt a chill. How did the sender know he had a gun? Not many people had one, so a coincidence seemed unlikely. John tried to wrack his brain thinking of anyone he knew whose name started with 'M'. There were a few, but none of them knew about the gun, nor would they have sent such a cryptic message.

Feeling anxious, he had grabbed his gun as instructed and took off for the park. In the flurry of activity following that, John had almost forgotten about the text, but now here was another one, from the same person it appeared.

"'M'...'M'...who are you?"

"A concerned party, Dr. Watson."

The smooth voice rang out in the empty hall and John jumped up, almost dropping his phone.

"Bloody hell!!"

The mysterious man simply raised an eyebrow as he gave John a once over from head to foot. He wore a form fitting suit, leaning on a brolly with his legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes were sharp and John felt a shiver at the resemblance of that gaze to Sherlock's when the brunet was trying to figure something out.

The two stared each other down until the man rolled his eyes.

"Really, Dr. Watson. Relax. If I was intent on harming you I wouldn't do it at a hospital of all places."

The shorter man frowned, his posture straightening just a bit more.

"Who are you? Did you send me these texts?"

The other man smiled although it felt sarcastic.

"Why yes. I thought you needed some helping finding your little...pet. You know, you really ought to keep him leashed, Sherlock has a tendency for getting into trouble."

John growled, feeling the urge to throttle the man.

"That's none of your business. How do you know Sherlock? How do you know me?"

"Like I said, I'm merely a concerned party."

"Concerned for...Sherlock?"

"Yes...albeit reluctantly so."

"Why? Are you his...his friend, or something?"

The man laughed mockingly, the mirth not reaching his eyes.

"Oh please. Even if he wasn't a hybrid, how many friends do you think he would have?"

"So then, what is your interest in him?"

"Dr. Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. A veteran of Kandahar, invalided home due to a bullet wound to the left shoulder, which left you with a psychosomatic limp and PTSD. It appears Sherlock has done wonders to help you get over both. I have a business proposition for you."

John's jaw tensed at all the information this man knew about him.

"What?"

"I am prepared to supplement a generous amount of money to your bank account and in exchange, all you have to do is report to me information about Sherlock Holmes."

Money for information on Sherlock? Oh that wasn't suspicious at all.

"What for?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man and it's not like I'd need information you're uncomfortable giving to me. I really have no desire to know what goes on between you and him in the bedroom, for example."

John scoffed and crossed his arms.

"I refuse."

"But I haven't even mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother. Not interested. Leave."

The man took a moment and stared right into John's eyes. His lips tilted upwards just a bit, and he gave an amused little chuckle.

"My, my. You're very loyal, aren't you? And you've only known him a few months."

"What does that matter?"

Another eye roll at his defiant question and the man took a step back, picking up his brolly.

"I will see you again, Dr. Watson. Do keep an eye on that pet of yours."

With that, he turned on his heels and walked away.

John watched his retreating back, clutching his phone. That had to be the oddest and most frightening conversation he had ever had. The man clearly knew a lot about him and Sherlock, how was that possible? His mind briefly recalled that Sherlock had said he had a brother, Mycroft. Could it be...? But no, that was impossible. He might know a lot about Sherlock, but how would he know so much about John? Plus, how did he know Sherlock would be in the park today? Or that John needed to bring a gun? None of it made any sense.

The doctor rubbed a hand over his face, feeling exhausted, just as the operation room doors opened. The surgeon stepped out, pulling away his face mask and giving John a tired smile.

"Are you the owner of the hybrid Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, that's me."

"We're all done. It went well, the tail's been reconnected and he should have almost full function of it once it's healed. There will be a scar, however, and it'll be sore for him to move it for a while, even after it's healed.

He also sustained some bruises from getting punched. One of his ribs was fractured. He'll need bed rest so I suggest you find someone else to warm your bed for the next few weeks."

John's nose scrunched up in distaste at the implication and he sighed in frustration. Why did all these people talk about him using Sherlock like it was so bloody OK? How did their mouths not twist in disgust just saying the words?

"Can I see him?"

"They're taking him to a private room for observation. You can find him in room 205E."

John nodded as he hurried off, eager to get back to Sherlock's side. He needed to see the brunet, to make sure he was alive and breathing. He wanted to hold him, run his fingers through his hair and whisper how sorry he was about their fight earlier.

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

Pain.

That was all he felt.

Blinding pain.

He hurt, his brain hurt, hell even his eyelids hurt.

Sherlock groaned as he dug his head deeper into the softness below, not caring that it made it difficult to breathe.

A soft hand stroked down his back, the touch feather light as if the person was afraid to press too hard. He felt soft breath over his ears as a body shifted next to him, lips ghosting kisses to his hair.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?"

The voice was hoarse, choked with tears. The brunet forced his eyes open and turned his head, squinting to focus his eyes.

"Mm?"

His own mouth felt dry and it felt like there was a barrier between his brain and his mouth. The muscles wouldn't function to form words.

"Sherlock! Oh, you're awake! Do you need anything? Water?"

The brunet cleared his throat and tried again.

"Where...?"

John took a cup of water from the bedside table and held the straw to his lips.

"We're at the hospital, they managed to reconnect your tail, Sherlock. It's going to be OK."

The brunet took a sip of the cool liquid, grateful when it soothed down his parched throat. He tried to lift his tail and mewled when it brought a sudden jolt of pain.

"Don't, love. Don't try to move it yet. The nerves need time to heal."

The doctor reached down and brushed his fingers along Sherlock's face, smoothing back the hair that had fallen on his forehead.

The brunet's ears flicked and he looked tiredly at John.

"You said that...at the park too..."

Cobalt eyes looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"'Love'," Sherlock clarified, "You called me that in the park too."

John blinked. He hadn't even realized, but now thinking back, he had indeed used the endearment last night.

"Because...you are. Is that OK?" John felt his face flush, unsure how Sherlock felt about it. It had been so natural to call him that, he hadn't really thought about it at all.

The brunet tried to purr, but it turned into a pained squeak when the vibrations jarred his injuries.

"It's...I like it."

Smiling, John leaned down and kissed his temple. He fed Sherlock a bit more water before settling down on the hospital bed beside his beautiful hybrid. Slowly, slender fingers sneaked into his hand and John grasped them tightly, kissing over each digit lovingly.

"Sherlock...I'm sorry. Yesterday, at the flat, I'm sorry I yelled at you and got angry. I...I didn't realize how you felt. Forgive me, please?"

Soft ears flicked and Sherlock's eyes widened, snuggling closer to John even though the movement made him wince.

"John...it was my fault. I said all those horrible things just because you were spending some time with a colleague. I was out of line..."

The doctor carefully pulled Sherlock into his arms, letting him curl up on his chest.

"No, Sherlock. You were right, she did want to sleep with me. I think I knew deep down that that was what she was after, but I feigned ignorance because it felt good, having her attention on me. I'm sorry, I should have made it clear to her from the start I wasn't interested."

Sherlock peered up at him from under his curls.

"I don't understand. You _were_ interested, John. You found her attractive and her company pleasant. Otherwise you wouldn't have tolerated being around her for so long. Why wouldn't you engage in some form of relationship with her?"

John blinked, looking confused.

"Because...because I'm with you, Sherlock."

Silence settled over the room as both parties looked at each other, each unsure of what the other was talking about.

"So?" The brunet finally asked after the silence had grown uncomfortable.

"Sherlock...you...we're in a relationship, why would I want to pursue another one?"

The expression on Sherlock's face was so confused that John thought he could see question marks popping out of his head.

"Yes, we're in a sexual relationship. Lots of owners and hybrids are. Doesn't hinder the owners from engaging in other relationships with human partners."

John coughed uncomfortably, not sure how to feel about this. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, thinking over how to word his thoughts.

"Sherlock, we're in more than just a sexual relationship. At least, for me. I'm not going to seek any romantic or sexual relationships with anyone else when I have you, Sherlock."

"But that doesn't make sense. That would make our relationship similar to those between most human lo..."

John could pinpoint the moment when the light of understanding finally clicked in the brunet's mind. His eyes snapped open wide and his ears suddenly stood at attention.

"...vers..."

Disbelieving blue eyes stared up at the doctor as the brunet's mouth fell open.

"Yes, Sherlock, yes it is."

It took Sherlock so long to process the thought that John almost thought he had gone into shock.

"Sherlock, love, talk to me. It's getting a bit scary now."

His mouth closed with a click and Sherlock threw his arms around John's neck, not caring that his nerves screamed at the sudden movement. He mewled and nuzzled, and if his tail worked, it would have been waving around.

John laughed, hugging him carefully.

"So, then you're happy about that?"

Sherlock nodded, his curls bouncing as he settled on top of John. His body was still in pain, but now, at least his heart didn't hurt anymore.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 15 END** _

^O^ Two chapters in one day!! A record for me! Because I couldn't stand leaving poor Sherlock at the end of the last chapter just hanging like that. Baby needed some TLC ;_;

And we have the arrival of....*drumroll* ONE BRITISH GOVERNMENT!! Although John doesn't know it yet. Neither does Sherlock. Lol. But they will.

Wow, so many people commented on the last chapter, apparently people respond to angst so much more than fluff O_o Thank you all so much for your support!!


	16. The Elder Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a surprise visitor in the hospital.

 

Sherlock felt restless. It had been two weeks since he got hospitalized and while most of his injuries had more or less healed, the doctors still wanted to keep him here to make sure his tail will heal properly. The nerves had reattached already so now it was just a matter of waiting for the tissues, and then his stitches can be taken out. In the meantime, however, it meant he had to keep his tail as still as possible. Every attempt at moving it hurt, and he disliked taking the painkillers since they made him drowsy.

John had come in every day to be with him. The first week he had taken off from work and camped out in Sherlock's room. By the second week Sherlock almost locked him out just to get him to go back to the clinic. Clearly John felt guilty about what had happened and he tried to make up for it by hovering over Sherlock, bringing him food and drinks and helping him bath. If the brunet made even a little noise of discomfort the doctor would be all over him, fluffing his pillows or adjusting his covers. It had been exhausting to constantly reassure John that Sherlock was OK, that he wasn't going into cardiac arrest every other minute.

The brunet wandered through the halls of the hospital, checking out the other patients. He was well enough to walk now and being cooped up in the room was driving him crazy. Carefully, he side stepped a young boy who was sniffling and holding a teddy bear. As he neared his own room, Sherlock stopped.

That smell.

He knew that smell.

Slowly he took a few steps forward and wrinkled his nose as the scent grew heavier.

The smell was buried under expensive tea and cake, but it was definitely there.

Tentatively, Sherlock placed his hand on the doorknob and turned, pushing it open as he stepped in.

Unsurprisingly, there was another presence in the room, standing by the window. The figure was peering out into the light, so all Sherlock could make out was his back. Immediately, the brunet's ears flatted to his head and he bared his teeth.

“Twenty six years, three months and twelve days,” the smooth voice observed, its owner not turning from the window, “I believe that's how long it's been since our last conversation.”

Sherlock stomps to the bed and lies down, pulling the covers over his head and determined to ignore the other's presence. He heard some soft footsteps and felt the other approach the bed, his stare boring into the lump that was Sherlock.

“Sherlock Holmes, I honestly did not think I would ever see you again.”

The brunet snorted and hugged himself tighter, fingers clinging to the covers.

“Sherlock, I brought some doughnuts for you, managed to sneak it past the...,” the door of the room swung open as another man entered, his cheerful voice stopping abruptly as he realized the brunet was not alone.

“ _Y-you!_ ” John exclaimed with alarm as the box he had been carrying dropped to the ground.

He reacted on instinct, seeing the other figure looming ominously over Sherlock, flying forward to pin the man to the wall, with his arm twisted behind his back. The taller man grunted as he was slammed into the hard surface, wincing at the strength John used.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?! What are you doing here?!” The doctor demanded, eyes narrowed and snarling at the intruder.

“OW! Unhand me, John Watson, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for my being here.”

“I don't think so. Who _are_ you? Answer me!” John pushed against the man harder, straining his arm so much it was on the verge of snapping.

“Let him go, John. He's my brother,” Sherlock's voice broke through John's angry thoughts, making him freeze.

So...this was Mycroft.

The doctor slowly took a step back and released the elder Holmes, his eyes still glaring and alert just in case the man tried to do anything suspicious.

Sherlock had pushed the covers down and sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side as he watched.

Mycroft cleared his throat and straightened his pinstriped suit with a huff of annoyance. He picked up the brolly he had dropped and dusted off some imaginary particles from his lapel.

“My goodness you have a violent streak in you, Dr. Watson. I certainly understand why you joined the military now.”

Sherlock growled and came up beside John.

“What are you doing here? Family reunion after two decades?”

Mycroft scoffed, “Hardly. I simply wanted to have a little chat with you two.”

John frowned and stepped forward, as if shielding Sherlock from his brother. What the brunet had shared with him about Mycroft made him feel incredibly protective towards Sherlock in the presence of the elder Holmes.

“You _abandoned_ your brother for all these years and now you want to _chat_? What kind of fucked up delusional world do you live in?”

“I abandoned him for his own good,” Mycroft countered, his voice curt and sharp.

John raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “For his own good? You told him you no longer considered him your brother, then taunted him with the fact that you illegally removed your hybrid traits so you could live among humans as equals, yet he was still a hybrid.  That was all for his own good? Right, OK. Have you ever been diagnosed for mental illness?”

The taller hybrid rolled his eyes and stepped forward, eyeing Sherlock and John.

“I made a decision to illegally alter my appearance to become human. If I was discovered, that alone would have meant lifetime imprisonment. My ultimate goal, however, was hardly so simplistic.”

Mycroft strode over to the open door and shut it firmly, locking it. He pulled the blinds on the windows, then scanned the room to make sure there were no cameras.

“I told Sherlock I wanted power, power to rise above humans and rule them. Do you realize how dangerous that journey was? A hybrid attempting to obtain power over humans, the penalty for that would have been death, Dr. Watson. I lived for half a dozen years after my operation simply trying to erase my conditioning as a hybrid, to walk among humans without lowering my head, to meet their eyes and not have to take orders. I had to learn how to negotiate, how to interact, how to climb the social ladder of this society while concealing my true nature.

At any time, my cover could have been blown. I could have been discovered, and then? Euthanasia would have been my punishment. Rebellious hybrids willing to break social orders are not tolerated in this world. They would have looked into my records, checked to see if anyone shared my genes, and they would have found Sherlock. Guilt by association alone would have gotten him jailed if he showed even a hint of knowing me outside of our shared DNA. If they discovered how much time we spent together growing up, the most likely decision would have been to put him down too for fear that he too possessed genes that harboured rebellion.

I needed him to forget me, to forget our time together, forget everything I taught him so that if he was caught, he can say he doesn't know a Mycroft Holmes. He doesn't know he had a brother, and I needed him to be able to say that convincingly. I needed him to hate me to convince himself into believing that he indeed, had no sibling.

And he did. Before you pried open the doors to that memory of his, Dr. Watson, he did almost manage to forget, didn't you Sherlock?”

Both John and Sherlock had gone quiet as they listened to Mycroft. The older hybrid's voice was calm and confident as he spoke, but the slight twitching at the corner of his mouth showed the difficulty he had going through these memories. The doctor glanced to the brunet and found that he was staring icily at his brother, mouth thinned and ears pressed tightly to his head.

“He could have _died_ at the hands of his owners,” John ground out, “You left him in the hands of owners who abused him and who had no qualms about getting him killed.”

Mycroft shook his head with a sigh.

“When I left him he was in the possession of a lady who mingled with the elites. She wasn't the most kindhearted owner, but she took care of her hybrids. I had no knowledge of what happened to Sherlock after she sold him, his name was changed and at the time I lacked the ability to track him.

For two decades I focused on climbing the ranks, Dr. Watson. Spending resources to track down a hybrid who would appear to have no relation to me would have been most suspicious. Not to mention I didn't have such influence even if I wanted to.  That is, until a few years ago, but by then I had almost forgotten I had a brother myself.  I merely assumed Sherlock was dead already. After all hybrids don't live long in our society, everyone wants a young one. Sherlock's lucky he's lived past his thirties.”

John felt a tight smile tilt his lips up. He took a few steps towards Mycroft and stared at him right in the eyes. The hybrid was taller, but John was fuelled with anger. His hand lashed out and the doctor's fist caught the side of the elder Holmes' face, sending him stumbling back.

“You were too busy grabbing power to look for your little brother?! What kind of excuse is that? He's your _brother_!”

Mycroft scrunched up his nose and wiped at where John had hit him with his handkerchief, glaring at the doctor with disdain.

“What does that matter? Without power, I couldn't save him. Power is what matters in the human world, Dr. Watson, I learned that quickly. You can't do anything without power, you can't save anyone, can't even save yourself.”

Before John could say anything else, Sherlock stepped forward.

“So how did you find me now? John told me you were the one who informed him I was in the park that night, I had a feeling it was you but I had hoped it wasn't. How did you know? Why have you shown up now?”

“I told you, up until a few years ago my influence was limited. Now I possess the ability to track all the CCTV in the country with a single command. I saw you fleeing to that park that night from one of the cameras, I also saw those drunken idiots going in after you. It wasn't difficult to deduce what would happen.

To be honest, I had locked my memories of you away already, but then a Scotland Yard report came across my desk a while back that mentioned your name. It triggered me into remembering you.  That had been unpleasant. Then I saw your picture in the papers and it confirmed that you are indeed the Sherlock Holmes I share DNA with. I started looking into you, where you live now, what you've been up to. I also looked into your history starting from when we separated twenty six years ago, so yes, I know what's happened to you since then.

As for why am I in contact with you now...”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and gave Sherlock a once over.

“You are my brother, after all. And since you are still alive, I hope to be of aid in keeping you that way.”

Sherlock let out a sarcastic laugh as he shook his head.

“Oh, now you care. Now all of a sudden you care if I'm alive or not? And I'm suppose to just be grateful and fall at your feet? Is that it?” The brunet snarled and lowered his head, looking threateningly at his brother, “What if I expose you instead? Tell everyone what you really are? I know who you work for, Mycroft Holmes. I've been looking into you too ever since I learned how to work a laptop. You've managed to keep your name out of the news but hacking into confidential documents of this government is surprisingly simple. You really should have your agents look into better cyber security.”

Mycroft shrugged and tapped the floor with his brolly.

“If you expose me, you expose yourself. We'd both be put down immediately, and I don't think your dear Dr. Watson would wish to see you with a bullet in your head,” he smirked at John who glared back with disgust.

Sharp eyes glanced between Sherlock and John, reading every conflicted emotion in their faces. Mycroft checked his pocket watch and sighed, clicking his brolly on the floor once more.

“In any case, I will have to take my leave now. Think over what I've said, I will be in touch again,” he strode to the door airily and pulled it open. Then, with a slight bow to them, Mycroft walked out, leaving the room in stunned silence.

John turned and stared at Sherlock, then back to the open door wondering if perhaps he had just imagined that whole exchange. But then, his box of dropped doughnuts was still on the floor, so it had to have happened. Sherlock gave a soft growl before he sat down on the bed, rubbing at his ears.

“So...that's your brother.”

“Yeah, still as irritating as I remember. Makes me want to scratch his eyes out.”

“Well, I think you'd be perfectly within reason to do so.”

“Only if we want the entire British government descending on Baker Street.”

“The British government?”

“You heard him, he has access to all CCTV cameras in the country, there aren't many people with that kind of power.”

“You've been checking up on him, yeah?”

“Yes, John. Think MI6, Secret Service, top secret information. If humans find out a hybrid has managed to breach the security of the government and climbed the ranks this high up into their government there would be riots in the streets.”

“...Wow.”

“Indeed. Mycroft was always a crafty brat.”

“That...couldn't have been easy for him, though.”

“No, I imagine not.”

“Still, that was rotten of him to abandon you like that.”

Sherlock only shrugged in response as he laid down on the bed once more. John came up beside the bed and sat down, running his fingers through the brunet curls.

“So when I told you about the weirdo I talked to while you were in surgery, you knew it was your brother?”

A soft purr rumbled through Sherlock as he leaned into the touch.

“I had a hunch. The description more or less matched.”

“What...what do you want to do? I mean, he said he's going to be in touch, should I install booby traps to the doors in our flat in preparation for his next visit?”

Sherlock buried his face into the pillow to muffle his chuckle.

“No, no need for that. He'll find a way to breech them, anyway. Besides, this could be interesting.”

John sighed and went to the door, shutting it before tossing the box of ruined doughnuts into the garbage.

“Well, either way, he owes us a dozen doughnuts. The prick.”

The brunet grinned and shuffled back on the bed, making room as John kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers. They snuggled together, each thinking over what had just happened and trying to make some sense of it.

Mycroft Holmes...a hybrid undercover in the human world.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 16 END** _

So, now we have Mycroft's back story.  I'll...leave the judgement of his actions to you.  I tried really hard to check and make sure I didn't miss any loopholes to Mycroft's story, if you find any, please let me know so I can fix it!!

Thanks for reading as always and all your lovely comments and kudos make me smile so much ^O^

 

 


	17. The Third First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is released from hospital, but John's acting strange. Talking over what had happened leads to some new experiences in the bedroom <3

 

It was another week before Sherlock was finally discharged from the hospital. Mycroft didn't visit again to both the brunet and John's relief, although Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson made a point to drop in every few days. Their landlady always brought some handmade sweets for Sherlock and stayed to chatter with him about some new show on telly, or complain that the flat was too quiet now and she couldn't wait for the tall brunet to get home.

Lestrade had came in the day after the incident to get John's statement. He had taken the gun in as evidence, but since the doctor had open fired in defence of Sherlock whose life was in danger he wasn't taken into custody. He'll have to go into court to defend his actions, but it was unlikely he would be charged with anything. Later on, the DI had informed them that they had gotten a mysterious tip about the whereabouts of the two attackers who had gotten away and they had been arrested. It hadn't been hard to prove they were the ones since CCTV camera footage caught them running from the park, one of them with a wounded arm. Sherlock and John shared a look as they wondered if perhaps Mycroft had anything to do with the tip.

Sherlock's tail flicked and he winced at the throb. He took a deep breath and looked around the busy store. The first thing he had asked when he was released from the hospital was for John to take him to buy another collar. He felt uncomfortable outside without it on, knowing that he could be picked up by the police if he strayed too far from John.

“See any you like?” The doctor asked as he came up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arm around the trim waist.

A pale hand reached out and fingered over some of the collars on display, feeling the fabrics and checking the weight. He wrinkled his nose at some of the fancier ones, frills adorned with sparkling gemstones, or spikes that reminded him of bulldog collars. John let him take his time, gently stroking the small of his back. Sherlock's hand stopped on a simple black band, it didn't seem to have any special markings on it, but upon close inspection there was a subtle yet elegant pattern weaved into the fabric. The buckle was plain silver and in the centre it was studded with a single blue gem.

"That would match your eyes," John observed, reaching out to touch the stone.

He picked up the collar and held it next to Sherlock's face, comparing the colours of the brunet's beautiful eyes and the gemstone. Sherlock's ears fidgeted and he looked in a mirror that was placed there so customers could check how the merchandise looked when tried on. He held the collar up to his neck as John peered over his shoulder. The black band looked more like a choker now without the tag added and Sherlock purred in approval.

"You like this one?" The doctor asked, watching a smile ghost over the brunet's lips.

Sherlock nodded and he looked so happy that John couldn't resist stretching up to kiss him on the lips. A soft mewl of surprise squeaked out of Sherlock but it was muffled against the older man as they pressed close. John tasted of the morning tea he had and Sherlock lapped at his mouth, wanting more.

"Ahem...uh...have we decided?"

The two broke apart, both suppressing an annoyed growl at the interruption as they looked over at the clerk. Their little display had attracted the attention of some nearby customers too and some of them were gawking while others whispered among themselves. John squashed the urge to roll his eyes, holding out the chosen collar to the clerk.

"This one, please."

"Certainly, please follow me to the counter and we'll get your tag made."

Sherlock gently latched his tail around John's wrist earning him a soft smile from his owner as they followed after the clerk.

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

  
Sherlock frowned a bit, watching John bustle about in the shopping centre. After they had purchased the collar, the doctor had suggested doing some browsing, and now, an hour later, Sherlock was holding bags of new clothes as John juggled boxes of sweets that he had suddenly thought Sherlock might be interested in trying. The doctor had even started talking about buying a chemistry set for the brunet since he had casually mentioned his interest in performing some simple experiments to help with solving cases. It appeared John had taken the time to browse some online shops for science equipment, and he eagerly told Sherlock that once the brunet picks out which ones he likes John can place an order for him.

Something was off. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John started pulling him into an electronics store, chattering about possibly getting a tablet for the brunet.

"John...you don't even have a tablet. I really don't need one," Sherlock protested.

"Oh, but you're so good at using these things. I'm sure you'll find some use for it once you get one. How about this iPad? I hear they're the best."

"John, you've bought enough things for me already, really."

As the doctor started waving over a store clerk, Sherlock quickly grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the shop.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?"

"I can ask you the same thing. What are you doing?"

"Shopping."

"Yes, but why?"

"Because I have too much money to spare and the British economy needs a boost," John griped sarcastically with a look at Sherlock.

"No, I think you're suddenly on this shopping spree because you still feel guilty about what happened that night."

That got the older man's attention fast. His mouth shut with a click and he immediately averted his eyes.

"N-no, I don't. We talked about it and it was settled."

"Yes, we did, but clearly the issue doesn't feel settled to you."

A few minutes passed in silence with John looking at the floor and scuffing his shoes while Sherlock waited for him to say something. Finally, when it appeared that that wasn't going to happen, the brunet sighed. He shifted the bags in his hands to one hand and took John's arm in the other, guiding them towards the exit of the shopping centre.

"Let's go home, John. I think you've spent enough money today."

They didn't say anything on their trip home, but Sherlock curled himself up against John in the back of the cab. Gentle fingers rubbed his ears, but the doctor's lips were thinned and regret swam in them.

The two of them lugged their new purchases up the stairs of the flat and set everything on the kitchen table. Sherlock turned to his owner and leaned his head down on the man's shoulder.

"John, what's going on? Why is this bothering you so much?"

He felt the man's arms wrap around him tightly, his head turning to kiss Sherlock's temple.

"I just...I can't stop seeing that night. How hurt you were when you ran out of the flat, and then when I found you. I really thought I'd gotten there too late. With those men around you I couldn't see if you were alive or not, but I heard your scream. It was...," he shuddered at the memory.

The tortured wail as Sherlock's tail was cut had sliced through the evening air like a knife, stabbing into John. He had physically been knocked back a step before he collected himself and reached for his gun, determined to take down whoever had caused Sherlock such pain.

"It was all my fault, I selfishly wanted her attention and ignored your feelings, Sherlock, and then, when you reacted, I yelled at you. If I had just gone after you immediately, or stopped you from leaving, that wouldn't have happened, you wouldn't have gotten so badly hurt. I told you you would be safe here, but I broke my promise. I'm...so, so sorry."

Sherlock kept quiet, letting John speak everything he needed to say. He didn't fault the doctor for anything, he held no ill feelings, just another something that happened in his lifetime of unfortunate events, but clearly John's self-blame was overwhelming. He stroked his hand down the man's back, feeling the slight tremble of the body in his arms.

"John, it's all OK now. I'm OK, there's no permanent damage, and...you're not a bad person, John. I mean, I also behaved badly, I shouldn't have lashed out. Please, stop feeling so guilty about it, it really wasn't your fault. Actually, you saved me, you saved my life, John."

It felt odd, being the one to give comfort like this. Sherlock had never found himself in this role before. He really couldn't believe how upset the blond haired man was feeling over the brunet getting hurt.  What's more, John's concern wasn't that Sherlock's scar will lower his price when he's sold, or having to spend money on hospital bills and medication.

"Please, John, stop spending yourself into bankruptcy trying to make it up to me."

The brunet heard a soft sniffle and looked up in surprise. The doctor's eyes were red rimmed and he was blinking hard to try and stop the tears from falling.

"John! John don't cry, please...hybrids aren't suppose to make their owners cry," Sherlock tried smiling at the man, flicking his ear to brush against John's cheek in an attempt to make him smile.

The soft fur tickled and the older man couldn't help as a soft laugh fell from his lips, making Sherlock smile wider. He didn't like seeing John cry, he didn't like it at all.

John petted his hair and stroked his ears, kissing them gently.

"OK, no more shopping."

Sherlock purred and started pulling John towards the bedroom. They hadn't done anything for so long now, the hospital room offering little privacy, and he ached to be held and touched.

The shorter man followed, letting Sherlock divest him of his jumper and shirt. The brunet tried to lie down, tugging at John to get on top of him, but he yelped as his weight settled on his tail, sending a flash of pain up his spine. Immediately, John pulled Sherlock up, his hand going to rub gently at the base of the injured tail in an attempt to sooth away the pain.

"Oh, Sherlock, I don't think we can just yet. Your injury is too close to the area, it'll be too painful."

Sleek ears drooped in disappointment as Sherlock pouted, tugging sulkily at John's trousers.

"But...but it's been so long..."

John smiled apologetically as he leaned down to kiss Sherlock's mouth when an idea came to him.

"What if...what if we switch?"

The ears twitched and blue eyes looked at him with confusion.

"Switch? Like...if I ride you?"

The doctor shook his head, cupping his hands around Sherlock's face.

"I mean, if you top. If you take me this time."

Pink, full lips fell open soundlessly as Sherlock just stared. He looked so utterly lost, as if he had no idea what John was talking about. With a soft chuckle at the stunned expression, John peppered some kisses over his ears, nipping gently. He brought one hand and cupped the brunet through his trousers, pressing lightly.

"Would you like that? To have this inside me? I'd like that very, very much, Sherlock."

John's voice was a low murmur, his breath ghosting over Sherlock's skin as the brunet's mind whirled to comprehend what was being proposed. John wanted...John was asking for...what?

"J...John..! B-but I've never...I haven't...I mean, how...I can't..."

For once the eloquent mouth failed to form a coherent thought and the older man couldn't hold back his soft laughter of amusement. The brunet blushed and wrapped his arms around John, hiding his face against the man.

"I've never done that, John...I don't know...I mean, what if I'm bad at it? What if I hurt you?"

"Sherlock, it's OK. It was just an idea, you don't have to if you don't want to, love," John cooed to the agitated hybrid, carding his fingers through the soft hair, "But if you'd like to try, I'm sure you'll do fine. You know what you enjoyed, right? Just...do the same, and I'll help you through the rest."

Triangular ears flicked with indecision and for a while John just sat on the bed, holding Sherlock. Finally, the brunet lifted his head to meet John's eyes, looking like he was trying hard to convince himself that he could do this.

"O-OK. I'll try..."

Soft lips pressed against the brunet's own encouragingly. He kissed back, opening his mouth as John's tongue slipped in. They licked and sucked at each other's mouth, the moans and mewls melting together.

Carefully, John helped him remove his clothes, kissing along his tail reverently. The doctor was using utmost care not to tug or pull on the appendage, and when he reached the base, he softly kissed over the scar.

Sherlock pulled down John's trousers and pants too, tossing them to join the pile of his own clothes on the floor. Fully exposed, they pressed their chests flush against each other, sighing as skin met skin without the barrier of clothing. This time, John laid back, urging Sherlock to climb on top, stroking his hands down the brunet's sides.

It was only a flip in position, but Sherlock felt like he was treading on foreign land. He was so deathly afraid that John wouldn't end up liking this, what if he does something wrong?

"Sherlock, love, look at me," the doctor's soothing voice broke through his thoughts and Sherlock peered down.

There was no sign of hesitation or reluctance on John's face. No trace of tension or nervousness, just open trust.

"It's OK, just do what you feel like, Sherlock. What did you like me doing to you?"

He thought for a moment then bent down and nuzzled at John's neck.

"I...I liked when you kissed my neck..."

Soft lips grazed over John's pulse point, licking along the tendons and lapping at the groove between his collar bones.

"I...liked when you touched my nipples..."

Sherlock's fingers trailed over the doctor's chest, brushing against the pink nubs, causing them to harden. John moaned, his back lifting off the bed a bit, seeking more.

The brunet's eyes flickered as he took in the man's reactions and he kissed down the doctor's sternum, over to one of the nipples.

"When you sucked on them..."

His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud and Sherlock sucked, teasing at the flesh with his tongue.

The short haired man gasped, his hands cupping the back of Sherlock's head as his body thrummed with pleasure. Sherlock's mouth was hot and wet, his rough tongue lapping gently against John's nipple.

"O-oh..god...Sherlock..."

The softly whispered words boosted the brunet's confidence in what he was doing and he reached a hand down to find John's cock already hard. He trailed a finger around the base, then up the underside, rubbing lightly over the tip.

John's head fell into the pillows, his breath getting knocked out of his lungs. His hips bucked up as his legs fell open, pre-come gathering over the slit.

"Mm...please..m-more...Sherlock...please..."

Sherlock felt a thrill of power in himself, realizing he was the one pulling out these reactions from John. John wanted his touch and his kiss, he could make the doctor squirm and moan and gasp for more. He lifted his head up to see John's expression as he used just the pad of his index finger and traced at the tip of the man's cock, spreading the glistening pre-come around.

A soft whine was the doctor's reaction as he was teased, his hips thrusting into the air. His eyes were half shut, darkened with lust as his mouth fell open, needy noises coming from his throat. His hands clung to Sherlock as the brunet continued to play with his straining member.

Sherlock brought his finger to his mouth, looking at the sticky wetness before lapping at it with his tongue. He heard a groan from John and looked down to see the doctor's eyes trained on him like a hawk. On instinct, Sherlock pressed the finger to John's lips and they immediately opened for him, wrapping around the digit eagerly. The short haired man took Sherlock's finger in to the knuckle, sucking and licking until it was clean and the sight made Sherlock so unbelievably aroused. He pulled out his finger with a wet 'pop' so that he could litter butterfly kisses around John's mouth, unconsciously grinding down against the man.

"Uhnn...Sh..Sherlock...lube...drawer...please..."

Apparently the ability to form full sentences had escaped John and he could only pant out words, desperately gesturing to the bedside table. Sherlock reached over and pulled open the drawer, taking out the bottle of lubrication they kept inside. He looked at it, then down at John, biting his lip.

"John...you're sure? You're absolutely certain you want this?"

The blond haired man almost growled as his hands clasped around the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down and crushing their lips together.

"Yesss...Yes, Sherlock...sure...so sure...A hundred percent, two hundred...I want to feel you inside me, Sherlock Holmes," the words were muffled between their mouths, but they conveyed the desperate hunger felt by John.

A shudder rippled through the brunet as he fumbled to open the bottle and squeezed a generous amount of the viscous liquid into his palm. John tossed a pillow under his own hips as he bent his legs, laying his feet flat on the bed while spreading them far apart.

Sherlock scooted down a bit, noting that John's cock was dripping on his stomach. He scooped up some of the pre-come and spread it over the twitching opening, eyes wide as he watched. John's breath caught, his body jerking a bit at the touch. The doctor was so vulnerable in this position and Sherlock marvelled at the fact that the man wasn't anxious or afraid at all. John trusted Sherlock to make it feel good, and the brunet was determined to live up to that trust.

"Sherlock...?"

John's questioning voice made the brunet look up. The older man was looking down his own body, eyes gazing at Sherlock.

"Are you OK?"

Sherlock nodded, bending down to kiss one of John's bent knees. He spread the lube over his fingers, then slowly traced around the puckered opening, making sure that the surrounding muscles were coated.

John's breath quickened, his body quivering with desire.

Finally, the brunet locked his eyes to John's and slowly pushed a finger inside. The breach made the doctor moan, feeling his muscles parting to allow the digit entrance. Sherlock bit his lip hard, mewling quietly in awe at how hot and tight it was inside. He tried moving his finger around to feel the inner walls and he felt the muscles tightening a bit before John managed to relax himself once more.

"It...It's OK, Sherlock...go ahead, put in another one..."

The brunet swallowed and nodded, pulling his hand back. He took a breath and this time, put two fingers up to John's opening. He watched with fascination as the long, slender digits slid in, disappearing inside the other's body. John choked on a gasp as his back arched. He kept reminding himself not to tense up as the fingers inside started feeling around once more. His eyes suddenly snapped open when he felt Sherlock's other hand wrap around his cock, pumping it slowly. His body squirmed as his hands quickly fisted in the bed sheets, needing something to ground himself.

The brunet had a small smile on his face as he watched. This was good, John was enjoying it. He pulled his fingers out a bit then pushed them back in, establishing a steady rhythm.

John could only manage an endless stream of gasps and moans, wanting to thrust up into Sherlock's hand but also desiring to push back against those amazing fingers.

"Sher..lock...more...oh god...need m-more..."

At the plea, Sherlock pulled his fingers out once more. He added a bit more lube, eyes watching John closely. The doctor draped his hands over his own thighs, pulling his legs further apart as Sherlock started pushing three fingers in. It was a tight fit and John's head thrashed on the pillow.

"John? John...are you all right?"

Sherlock's voice was thick with lust, barely louder than a whisper.

"Y-yes..yes...fuck...yess..."

The doctor's hands reached down blindly, tugging at Sherlock who lifted himself up, not removing his fingers from inside the man. John kissed the brunet all over his face, stroking his hair and rubbing his ears.

"Please, Sherlock...please, need you, now. Come inside me."

Sherlock groaned breathlessly, pressing his forehead to John's. For a moment, all he could do was focus on breathing. He was actually going to do this. He was going to insert himself into John and join their bodies together. Hungrily, Sherlock's mouth covered John's and the two tangled their tongues together.

By the time they pulled apart, neither could see clearly and both felt dizzy from lack of air.

Sherlock removed his fingers from John and fumbled to lube up his own cock. It was excruciating, touching himself. He was so hard that it was almost painful. Wiping his hands on the bed sheets, Sherlock ran his hands down John's inner thighs, feeling them quiver and tremble under his touch.

John's eyes were hooded and glazed as he watched Sherlock. He ran his hand down over his own chest, past his stomach, lazily stroking his straining cock. The doctor felt the tip of the brunet's member nudging against his opening and he shivered, locking eyes with those beautiful blue orbs turned navy with desire.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock rolled his hips forward, pushing the head into the doctor's body. Both of them gasped brokenly, trailing into a heated moan. John couldn't help it as his eyes rolled back and all he could do was focus on breathing. Every nerve in his body was running in overdrive, the sparks of heat and pleasure rushing through his blood.

Sherlock's eyes wanted to close at the intensity of the feeling, but he forced them to stay open. He wanted to watch as he slowly pushed inside John. Sherlock took a moment to let John get used to the stretch, then he pushed forward, steadily sheathing himself into the tight body. It was so hot, the brunet felt like his body was on fire. His ears pressed tightly against his head, shaking from too much stimulation.

By the time Sherlock was balls deep inside John, he was too afraid to move. Already he was so close, the pool of heat coiling in his abdomen was ready to explode with even the smallest trigger. Sherlock mewled desperately, unsure what to do. He couldn't come so soon, but he honestly felt like even pulling out might set off a chain reaction that will have him hitting orgasm.

John sensed the distress in the brunet and reached out a hand.  He ran his fingers up Sherlock's arm and over his shoulder to clasp at the nape of the elegant neck. He tugged the whimpering hybrid down, brushing back the curls on his forehead, kissing over his temple and cheek.

“Love, what is it? What's wrong?”

Sherlock shivered, almost crying that he was going to mess this up.

“I...I'm...too close...can't move...J-John...please...”

The doctor smiled, suppressing a laugh. Sherlock was too adorable, worrying about coming too soon, but he really did look so tortured about it. John braced himself on the bed with his free arm, pulling his body up a bit so that the brunet wasn't seated fully inside. Then, he pushed his hips down, sucking Sherlock in fully once more.

The panicked squeak was accompanied by blue eyes snapping wide open. Sherlock's eyes were trained on John's face, but it looked like he couldn't focus on anything.

“It's OK, love, it's OK. Just do what feels good, don't think too much,” John comforted him, repeating his actions once more.

Sherlock moaned and dropped his head, pressing it against John's chest as his hips started matching the doctor's movements. He pulled out halfway, then thrust back in, whimpering at the friction and heat the movement caused. John dug his fingers into the sweaty curls, trying not to grip tightly, but it was so tempting. The brunet's hips thrusted and bucked, slicking up John's inside with his pre-come.

“Ooh...close...s-so...oh god...,” his ears twitched with every thrust and his vision blurred.

John's mouth found their way to his ears and nibbled, kissed and mouthed at the sensitive triangles. His fingers teased over the brunet's chest, latching onto his nipples and stroking gently.  Sherlock yelped at the sudden added stimulation and before he knew what was happening he had slammed his cock in to the hilt, the muscles in his body spasming as spurts of come coated John from the inside.

John's arms hurriedly slipped around the brunet when he felt the slim body freeze in place. He felt the thick, warm, liquid pooling inside and shivered, his muscles contracting to milk Sherlock for everything he had. That pulled a lovely whimper out of the brunet now draped over John, breathing hard as the waves of heat and pleasure washed through him.

The older man ran his hand over Sherlock's back, soothing him and slowly bringing him back to his senses. With a start, the brunet jerked up, eyes looking horrified. He stared down at where they were still connected, then at John's still erect cock, eyes suddenly flooding with tears.

“John! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I came too soon! Oh god, I can't believe I did that!”

The outburst jolted the doctor from his hazy glow of having just watched his lover climax. He tried to sit up and winced when the movement caused Sherlock to slip out of him.

“Love, it's OK, you don't have to be sorry about that.”

John quickly enveloped the panicking brunet into his arms, pulling him down into a warm hug.

“Shh, it's OK, Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong. You came because you enjoyed it, right?”

The brunet managed a shaky nod, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.

“Then there's nothing to worry about.”

The blond haired man kissed his reassurances all over Sherlock's face, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, everywhere. He didn't let up until he felt the brunet calm down, just holding him and enjoying the warmth.

After a while, he felt a tentative touch on his cock and he looked down to find Sherlock's fingers wrapped around it. Blue eyes peered up at him pleadingly.

“Please, John, can I?”

The older man smiled and wrapped his own hand over Sherlock's.

“Of course, let's do it together, yeah?”

They both sat up a bit to be able to reach easier. Sherlock's hand gripped John's cock firmly with the doctor's hand wrapped around Sherlock's. They started stroking slowly, and John found he had a hard time concentrating. The speed increased gradually and the doctor started gasping, his hips thrusting up into their joined fists. Eventually, John let Sherlock take over, grabbing at the bed with both hands, digging his fingers into the mattress as he writhed and moaned. It was perfect, so absolutely perfect. He could still feel Sherlock's come inside him, and he knew he had those gorgeous blue eyes watching him, added to the talented hand pumping his cock, it made John breathless with arousal.

Sherlock dipped his head down, watching as the pre-come started flowing out steadily. Clearly, John was nearing orgasm and Sherlock stroked faster. He opened his mouth and took the tip of the penis between his lips, sucking hard and tasting the saltiness. He mewled softly, feeling a tremor run through himself.

The image was too much. With a shout of warning, John's climax hit and all brain function ceased. His back arched up off the bed, still feeling the brunet's tight lips around his cock. For a few seconds everything else melted away and the only thing that mattered was him and Sherlock.

It wasn't a total surprise when Sherlock felt the semen hit his throat, and he quickly swallowed so that he wouldn't choke. John's taste filled his mouth and his eyes fluttered. He slowed his hand down, knowing that the man will be very sensitive post-orgasm. After making sure he got every drop of come, Sherlock pulled his head back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. John was exhausted, panting for air as he laid on the bed, incapable of saying anything.

The brunet settled himself at his owner's side, draping an arm over the doctor's chest to hold him close. It was silent in the room aside from the sound of breathing before finally, John groaned and rolled onto his side, snuggling up against Sherlock.

“Fuck...that was amazing.”

Sherlock nuzzled him, tracing a finger down John's arm.

“Was it? Even after I...you know?”

John chuckled and burrowed closer.

“Yes, it was, and don't you ever feel bad about something like that,” the doctor looked into the brunet's eyes, “It was perfect. You felt wonderful inside me, Sherlock.”

Pale cheeks blushed and Sherlock ducked his head away, making John laugh at how cute he looked.

“Did you like it? Being inside me?”

Immediately, the brunet nodded, smiling as he recalled the feeling. It had been incredible the heat, the tightness, and just knowing it was John.

“Want to do it again some time?”

The question made his ears perk up and he looked at John with eagerness.

“I...I'd like that...if you want to, too, of course.”

John smiled and ruffled his hair. He kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose and then his mouth, licking over the cupid's bow.

“Absolutely. Abso-fucking-lutely.”

The brunet beamed and cuddled the doctor close. He reached out and pulled the covers over them, both man and hybrid yawning and feeling utterly satisfied. Within a few minutes, the room was quiet as the two occupants fell into a peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 17 END** _

Didn't expect the TopCatLock in this chapter?  ME NEITHER!! XDD  But these two have a mind of their own, I'm just the messenger apparently (or the typist).

I hope it lived up to people's expectations for those who were looking forward to this :D  It won't be the only time, it's not like there's a to-do list that I tick off when I finish writing something and then never go back to again, but it's their first time with Sherlock on top <3  Poor baby got so flustered :3

OH!!! OHH!!!  AND I MADE A PHOTO MANIP OF KITTY SHERLOCK!!!!  (Full size image [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1833541).)

 

 *Rubs his ears <3*


	18. The Dead Hybrids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade drops by Baker Street with a new case for Sherlock, but this time there's a twist.

 

John awoke a few hours later. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and a quick look over at the clock told him it was near seven in the evening. There was no one else in bed, so John pushed himself up, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He was a little sore from their earlier activities, but the memory made him smile. Looking over to the bedroom door, he was surprised to find it closed. That was unusual, neither he nor Sherlock tended to close it since they rarely got visitors aside from Mrs. Hudson. He climbed out of bed and wobbled over to the bathroom to wash up.

Sherlock heard the water running in the shower and knew John was up. His ears flicked towards the sound though he continued reading the file in front of him.

“They started appearing about a year ago. Initially it was just a body here, another one there. They were all dumped in separate jurisdictions, so the local police didn't make the connection. But then the bodies started piling up, all with similar injuries. A few weeks ago we found several bodies in one location.”

Lestrade told the brunet seated across from him. The DI had dropped by a few minutes ago with an ongoing investigation he had hoped Sherlock could help with. It was bigger than anything the brunet had been involved in before, but Lestrade was getting desperate.

“Yes, I read about that,” Sherlock glanced through the crime scene photos, all showing dead hybrids dumped in alleys or hidden away corners of the city, “I believe the papers said it was gang related, turf war or some other nonsense.”

“That was the story we sold the media, didn't want to cause panic.”

“What about the owners of these hybrids? What did they say?”

“They didn't have owners. That was another thing they all shared. It was like they just appeared out of nowhere. No birth records, no bill of sale, no history of owners at all.”

Sherlock's mouth pressed together tightly as he looked at a photo of a very young looking hybrid. The boy couldn't have been more than mid to late teens. He was lying on his side, curled up in the dirt. His tank top did little to hide the bruises, bite marks and deep scratches that ran up his arms, the torn jeans revealing slashed legs caused by what appeared to be claws that bled profusely. His face was a mess, covered in dirt and blood with a broken jaw and fractured nose. On his back where there had once been a pair of beautiful feathery wings, only one remained now. The feathers were splattered with more blood and it was clear that his other wing had been ripped brutally from his back. The fatal blow that ended his life, however, was in the shape of a single bullet hole, right through the side of his head.

All the other victims had been beaten similarly, but their cause of death varied. Some had been shot to end their misery, others were stabbed. A few seemed to have simply bled out or died from internal injuries.

"Oh, Inspector, hello. I didn't realize you would be dropping by today."

John strode into the living room, hair damp but dressed in a casual shirt and a pair of loose jeans. Lestrade stood up and gave him a smile.

"We ran into a somewhat difficult case and I was hoping Sherlock could help out."

John smiled and nodded back, motioning for the DI to have a seat as he pulled up a chair beside Sherlock. He peered over the brunet's shoulder and grimaced at the photos.

"Wow. Those are horrid. Are all of them hybrids?"

"Yeah, there's been a string of dead hybrids turning up around London and the surrounding areas. All beaten up like that. We've managed to confirm that these hybrids were participating in underground hybrid fight clubs, but we can't infiltrate them. The trained hybrids on the force are all too frightened just from looking at these crime scenes, if we send them in undercover we're afraid they'll be found out."

"Underground hybrid fight clubs?" Sherlock quipped, raising an eyebrow, "Hybrid fight clubs aren't illegal, my second owner had some of his hybrids participate in them. Why underground?"

Lestrade sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes.

"No, you're right, they're not illegal. Forcing hybrids to beat each other to a bloody mess is perfectly within the law. Outright killing them isn't, however. It's the murders we want stopped. Actually, the first few bodies that popped up, their deaths had been disguised as accidents. Too much blood loss, a hit to a vital organ, that kind of stuff. There were no clear weapons used with the intent to kill, so the guys that took the calls wrote them off as accidents. But now..."

John grimaced and made a small noise of disgust.

"Hm. Now the killers aren't even bothering to hide the fact that these are murders and Scotland Yard's panicking."

The DI slumped in his chair and nodded, giving Sherlock apologetic glances.

John knew Lestrade wasn't at fault for any of this. The man treated Sherlock as he did any of his human acquaintances, but clearly he felt guilty for how lightly the deaths of hybrids were taken by the police force.

"I believe I know what you want from me, but I'm afraid that's something you'll have to clear with John first," the brunet told the Inspector, glancing at John.

"What? What does he want from you?" the doctor asked with confusion, looking between the other two.

"They need to infiltrate these fight clubs. They need someone to go in undercover, get chummy with the participants, and find out about the people running these fights, along with who is actually doing the killing. A human going in won't get much out of the hybrids since they'd be trained not to talk, but if a hybrid goes in, he might be able to pull out some information. Unfortunately, their own trained hybrids are too frightened to take on the task, so in other words, the DI is here to ask me to go in, undercover."

Sherlock closed the file in his lap, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he stared at Lestrade, expression unreadable.

"Did I get anything wrong?"

John's eyes widened as Lestrade shook his head, flicking his eyes between the doctor and his hybrid.

"No...no you hit it right on the head. We're desperate, Sherlock, the body count is up in the high thirties if we count the ones that were made to look like accidents, and we don't have any leads as to who's running these things. We can't even figure out where the fights are held since it's never at the same place twice. Every time we get there, they've somehow already cleared out."

"Wait, wait. You want Sherlock to go in, on his own, trying to dig up information on criminals who clearly have no problems killing hybrids?"

"He won't be alone, John. We'll assign an officer with him to act as his owner."

"Right, but for him to have access to the hybrids participating in these fights, have you ever considered he might actually need to be entered into them himself?"

"We won't allow it to go that far, John. I promise, Sherlock will not be involved in any fighting. Just information gathering."

"Information gathering. Under the nose of murderers. Right. Totally safe, like sticking his head into the open jaws of a lion."

Sherlock listened to the exchange quietly, thinking over his options. The case was interesting and undercover work sounded thrilling, but could he pull it off? Would his acting be good enough?

"Sherlock, are you seriously considering this?"

John's voice brought the brunet back into the present and he found both Lestrade and the doctor staring at him. He looked down at the file still in his lap, then up to John.

"Over thirty hybrids dead, probably more. If these were humans, wouldn't you want me to help?"

John's brows furrowed and he frowned.

"Sherlock, it's not about them being hybrids or humans. This is too dangerous. You're not trained for undercover work, if something happens, you don't even know how to use a weapon to defend yourself."

"Lestrade can teach me. You can too. Besides, the police will be monitoring, it's not like I'll be going in entirely on my own. They'll have backup waiting when I go in."

"What if you get hurt? What if something goes wrong? What if you...if I..."

John's voice trailed off as he looked desperately into Sherlock's eyes. 'What if I lose you?' he wanted to ask.

Silence fell over the three of them before Sherlock cleared his throat and held out the file to Lestrade.

"Inspector, can you give us some time to think this over? I'll be in touch tomorrow at the latest with our decision."

The DI nodded and took the file, standing up and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Listen, I'm really sorry to put this on you two. I realize it's not your problem and if you don't want to then I totally understand."

He shook hands with John and gave Sherlock a nod before heading out the door, leaving the doctor and the brunet alone.

"Sherlock, it's not that I don't want you to help, I do. What happened to those hybrids was awful, and whoever's behind it should be put away, but it's too dangerous."

Sherlock knelt beside John's chair, his hands resting on the man's thighs as he peered up.

"I'll be careful, John. I won't do anything except get information. And I'll have an officer with me all the time, acting as my owner. Please, John...I want to help."

The older man was torn. On one hand he wanted to put his foot down and order Sherlock to stay away from this case, but on the other, the brunet clearly desired to take the case and John knew if Sherlock was one of his human friends, he couldn't order him to do anything. He took a deep breath and placed his own hand over Sherlock's.

"Let's...make some dinner. I'll think it over dinner and we'll talk about it after we get some food, OK?"

The brunet smiled, knowing that John agreeing to 'think it over' meant he was starting to relent. He nodded and rubbed his face against the doctor's thigh.

"Do you feel OK? I mean, earlier, we...," a soft blush coloured Sherlock's cheeks.

John chuckled and ruffled his fingers in the silky brown hair.

"Yeah, a little sore, but no worse for wear. You?"

"I...I still have a hard time believing that it happened."

"Don't worry, we'll do it as many times as it takes for you to believe it did happen," John smirked as Sherlock blushed harder, scrubbing at his heated cheeks.

"You really don't mind? Being in the submissive position, I mean?" Bright inquisitive eyes gazed up to the doctor with wonder.

"Sherlock...," John stood up and tugged the brunet over to the armchair Lestrade had sat in earlier. He settled in the seat and pulled Sherlock into his lap, letting the lanky hybrid curl up like an over sized cat.

"Sherlock there is no domination and submission in sex. Some people enjoy those kinds of plays, yes, but that's a consensual exchange of power with explicit guidelines agreed to by everyone involved. Otherwise, both parties are equal.

I don't mind either role, because in either one I'm getting to share it with you. And it's the same for you, Sherlock. When you allow me to take you, you're not submitting to me. Please don't think that I hold more power over you simply because of a switch in roles, Sherlock."

The brunet listened wide-eyed, rubbing the fur on the tip of his tail. Sex was so closely linked to power in his mind, the idea that that wasn't the case seemed alien to him. He purred softly when he felt John's arms cradling him, allowing him to settle comfortably against the older man. They sat there until the sun slowly settled behind the horizon, neither willing to break the silence.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa, absently watching the telling and eating macaroons after dinner as John finished doing the dishes. The doctor brought out two cups of tea and set them on the coffee table, shuffling the brunet's long legs out of the way to make room for himself to sit down. There was a documentary on about forensic science and Sherlock was watching with rapt attention, mouthing some of the data as it was explained in the show, as if committing them to memory.

John picked up a macaroon himself and settled back, nibbling on the sweet. His mind had been preoccupied all through dinner, remembering the images from the case file Lestrade had brought. In particular, he recalled a photo of a male hybrid, cat features much like Sherlock, possibly in his mid twenties. Someone had filed his teeth and nails into sharp weapons that could be used for biting and scratching. The dump site had been by the Thames on some rocks where he had been tossed carelessly. He laid on his back, head twisted at an odd angle, eyes open and lifeless, staring into the sky. Deep gouges of flesh had been ripped from his torso but the blood had drained out already into the rocks and sand below. One wound had been so severe that the white of his ribs peeked through the flesh. His cat ears were brown, lighter than Sherlock's and his tail was much shorter. Chunks had been torn from the ears and although John thought his tail was naturally short, a closer look had revealed otherwise. The end was sliced through, although whatever weapon was used must not have been very sharp since the edges of the cut were jagged and rough. It looked like someone had taken a dull pair of scissors and sawed half the tail off.

Just the memory made John shudder and he leaned into Sherlock, eyes flicking to the brunet's tail where it rested lazily over his bony hip, the tip flicking every once in a while.

"You're thinking about the case," Sherlock's smooth voice observed. He reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

The doctor cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Yes, just...remembering some of those photos."

"If they don't catch the killer more bodies will show up."

John sighed and nodded, yes, he realized that. He didn't think he could live down the guilt if more hybrids ended up mutilated and dead, knowing he could have helped prevent it.

"You can go on the case, but I want to come with you."

Sherlock frowned a bit and sat up, crossing his legs on the sofa.

"John, that's not possible."

"Yes, it is. Lestrade said they'll have an officer posing as your owner, yeah? Well, why don't I go as your owner instead? I have military training, I can handle a tough situation."

The brunet thought it over and couldn't seem to find any loophole in the plan.

"B-but it's dangerous. You said so yourself, if they find out we're undercover you'll be in danger."

John rolled his eyes.

"Same goes for you, and yet you're still determined to go. Look, Sherlock, I know you want to take the case, and I don't want to stop you from doing something you clearly want very much, but I'm not sending you to fight murderers on your own. I'm coming.”

The brunet blinked at the hard determination behind John's voice. Clearly his mind was made up and he wasn't budging.

"We'll...have to talk to Lestrade about it then."

The doctor nodded.

"Fine. We'll talk to him tomorrow, OK?"

Sherlock agreed hesitantly. The thought of John running into this was unsettling. He didn't like thinking about the doctor anywhere dangerous, but it's not like he can do anything to prevent it unless he dropped the case. The brunet sighed softly to himself and cuddled up next to his owner. They'll figure out the details tomorrow with Lestrade, hopefully that can put a stop to the killings and come out unscathed from the ordeal.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER 18 END**

And here we start a case arc that's going to span the next few chapters.  The fight club suggestion came from "[Cloaked Vampire](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/109778/)", thank you dear!!  We got some angst (major angst) and drama of the kind that leaves you flailing and screaming, so be prepared for a roller coaster ride!  I promise a happy ending, but before the rainbow comes the storm *Waxes poetics*

For those of you who have kept up so far, thank yoooooooou!!!  Lots of love for all your support and the wonderful comments <3 <3

 


	19. The Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go into Scotland Yard to prepare for their case. There's lots to be done before the pair are ready to tackle their first undercover job!

 

Lestrade hustled John and Sherlock into his office as soon as they turned up at Scotland Yard. He shut the door and motioned to the chairs for his guests to sit.

“I'll take the case,” the excited hybrid told him before the DI even settled himself behind his desk.

“On one condition,” John added.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow in surprise, he really hadn't counted on actually convincing Sherlock to do this, or at least, he didn't think the doctor would have permitted it.

“All right, what's the condition?” He asked cautiously.

“I go in with Sherlock undercover as his owner.”

The DI glanced between the two, thinking it over. Risky, very risky. John might have served in the military before, but now he was a civilian. If something goes wrong and the public finds out they had used a civilian and an outside hybrid, that would be disastrous. Still, if the killings continue, the public will demand to know why the police aren't doing more to stop it. Right now the victims have been confined to hybrids so attention to the case has been minimal, but already, some questions have been asked by the media.

“I'll need to talk it over with some people, but I think that can be arranged,” Lestrade finally assented.

Joy gleamed in Sherlock's eyes and they practically sparkled. John watched with a wry smile, thinking about how insane this was.

“We'll need to give you two some training, of course. Prep you for undercover work, and Sherlock, we'll need to have you learn some basic self defence moves, as well as how to shoot a gun in case of an emergency. Once I get the OK, I'll send you two a file with your cover stories. Memorize them, every detail.”

The two nodded in agreement.

“And Sherlock, you've probably realized this already, but...taking on this case means letting people here know you're a hybrid. We've managed to keep that from circulating around so far, but if you're going in undercover as a hybrid, at the very least the people involved in this case will know about you.”

Sherlock worried his lip between his teeth. He had, indeed, thought about this already. There was no law dictating that hybrids cannot help in police work, or most work for that matter. The police force had their own specially trained hybrids too, although they were more like sniffer dogs kept around for special cases. Many officers, however, probably held the common view that hybrids were property, so if Sherlock tried to go snooping in crime scenes afterwards he would be met with more resistance than before. Still, they wouldn't be able bar him from them if Lestrade was around.

"Yes, I know. I'll deal with it."

Lestrade let out a heavy sigh, sitting back in his seat. He looked over the pair, then frowned as he thought of something else.

"John, if you go with Sherlock undercover, you're going to have to treat him like the other hybrids. You need to blend in with the crowd as much as possible, Sherlock can't go in his usual clothes, and he can't wander around freely on his own," the DI furrowed his brows, staring pointedly at the slender hybrid's unleashed collar, "Are you sure you're prepared for all of that?"

John's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. It hadn't occurred to him that his treatment of Sherlock will have to change for this. He had just been trying to wrap his head around participating in a case that he hadn't worked out the details yet. He stared at his hybrid, feeling horrified and nauseated as he realized what this meant. What if...what if they made Sherlock...crawl behind him? He made a choked noise of disgust at the image that caused the hybrid beside him to lean over with concern.

"John? John, it's OK. It'll just be acting," the soft voice comforted him.

Sherlock's hand covered the doctor's on the armrest and gave him a gentle squeeze. He saw how upset John had become when it settled in what going undercover really meant. It wasn't just go in, get information, get out. They'll have to act their parts for this to work.

John steeled himself and took a deep breath. Well, in that case, he's definitely not letting some strange officer go in with Sherlock. He'll pull up everything he remembered from high school drama class to get though this act if he had to.

"Yes, fine. I'll...I'll manage," he ground out.

"OK. I should get full confirmation by tomorrow and we can start training and briefing you the day after that. John, you're working, right? Let me know if you need help getting time off for this. Needless to say, don't tell anyone else about this case or your involvement in it."

After a few more minutes, the two walked out of the office with the promise that Lestrade will call tomorrow. John walked briskly, head down and with the single aim of leaving the building. He needed air, needed to think.

Sherlock followed, hands in his pockets, eyes on the doctor in front. He didn't really care about the little owner and pet act they'll have to put on but it was clear that John wasn't comfortable with it. John had never treated him like a pet and he was having difficulty convincing himself that he could.

When they reached the outside, Sherlock pulled John into a small alleyway away from the streets.

"Sherlock, what...?" The doctor looked at him in surprise and confusion

With a soft smile, Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's cheek. He pulled off his hat and gave his hair a shake to get the curls back into their usual, bouncy state.

"John, I know you dislike using this, but you need to get used to it."

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a leash, placing it in John's hand.

"Sherlock!" John's exclamation was paired with a severe frown.

"John, it's an act. I know what you're really like, this won't change anything. Besides, it doesn't hurt me if you use this, it's just a leash."

He lifted his chin a bit to show his collar, offering for John to clip the leash to it.

John shook his head, gripping the long piece of fabric tightly.

"No, it's not just a leash, Sherlock. It's a symbol of power. I don't leash my friends, I definitely don't leash my lover."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached out, taking the hook of the leash and snapping it on to his own collar himself.

"Well, for the time being, let's put all those sentiments to the side. Just get used to having it in your hand, and me following you. Keep your eyes ahead, look confident, and please, stop giving me those looks as if you're doing some great offence to me. Act John, act."

Firm hands gripped John's shoulders then turned him towards the street. Sherlock gave him a slight push and sent him out into the crowd of people once more, following a few steps behind. The leash tugged a bit at the slender neck, and Sherlock had a flash of memory from a time before he met John, but he quickly shoved it back into a box and locked the lid. No time for that now.

John just stood, frozen. His eyes darted around as if someone was going to suddenly point and scream at him that John Watson was committing some great crime because of the leash in his hand. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn around, unhook the leash, burn it, then hug and apologize to Sherlock over and over, but when he glanced back, Sherlock only made a jerky motion with his head, indicating that John should start walking.

With an exasperated growl of frustration, John moved his legs, forcing himself to look ahead and not keep checking behind himself. He knew Sherlock was following, he could feel the hybrid's presence, but it was unnerving. Sherlock belonged next to him, so they could walk hand in hand, laughing and joking as they clamoured through the streets.

When they stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light Sherlock's presence closed in until he stood directly behind John. Something soft and furry stroked over the doctor's hand where he had fisted the end of the leash and he looked down to find the tip of a sleek tail, trying to get him to relax. John unfurled his fingers and brushed over the beautiful fur gently, finding even that small bit of contact reassuring. He forced himself to calm down, and by the time the light turned, he walked forward with a determined look in his eyes.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Two days later, John and Sherlock were back at Scotland Yard for their first training session. They were given files with information regarding the case, along with their undercover stories.

"OK, so we kept it as simple as possible to make it easy for you to remember. John, most of your story's just based on your own history, army doctor, back from Afghanistan, bought Sherlock off a hybrid market. He's your first, and while it was fun for a while, you want something new, more exciting, so that's why you're interested in the fight club. We believe the owners of the winning hybrids from these fights are also paid a reward, so since your army pension and clinic job don't exactly pay well, you're looking for some extra income. You're just there to scope out the scene for now, so there's no need to register Sherlock in for actual fights. Talk to as many people as possible, tell them you're interested in getting Sherlock to fight, but you've heard that a lot of hybrids involved with these fights have turned up dead recently and it worries you. That will be your opening to see who knows what about the kills.

Sherlock, most of your history's unchanged too. Owned three times previously, John's your fourth owner. Trained to be a bedroom pet, but you had some experience fighting in personal one-on-one fights with your second owner so you're not new to it. When you get a chance, talk to the hybrids that are involved in the fights, see what they know about the killings. Some of them will likely be too afraid to talk, but since you're a hybrid too, it'll be easier to convince them to open up to you," Lestrade read from a paper detailing their personal information.

"What if we can't get enough information to pin point the killer?" John asked, trying to imagine himself actually looking interested in these fights.

"Our allotted time for this case is one to two months. Undoubtedly the people there will be suspicious at first, they always are of newcomers. Go slow, earn their trust, don't push too hard for it. If they sense you're too eager for information, they'll get suspicious and your cover will be at risk. Even if you can get just a bit of information, a description, a possible suspect, that will help. We need any leads we can get to track this murderer down.

You will both be wearing pin cameras and microphones, and we'll have police surveillance nearby keeping track of all your movements. If you actually end up meeting the killer, don't try to do anything. Just talk, see if you can get them to mention the killings, maybe offer some detail that hasn't been released to the media. Once we have their face, we'll take over."

Lestrade motioned to an dark haired officer standing by the door to the meeting room. Aside from the DI, Sally was there along with 3 other men, all part of the team tackling this case. Lestrade had introduced them earlier as Adams, Rollfurd and Wendall.

Adams stepped up and set down a gun on the table in front of Sherlock.

"We'll be training you today on how to load, unload and use this. Come with me," he told the brunet with a friendly smile.

Sherlock's ears flicked a bit and he picked up the gun, running his hand over it and testing the weight. He swallowed, then looked over at John.

"We need John here for something else," Lestrade informed him, noting the look in Sherlock's eyes that indicated he wanted his owner along. They really needed to make the most of their time, and since John was already trained in gun they had to prep him for his role.

The doctor gave him an encouraging smile and patted his shoulder.

"Go ahead, you'll do fine. You're the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, right?"

Blue eyes lit up at the words and he nodded. Yes, he'll do amazing, he'll do so wonderfully that everyone here will be amazed that John owned such an astounding hybrid. Sherlock grabbed the gun and followed Adams out of the room, his tail swishing behind him eagerly.

Before anyone could say anything else, another officer came in with a hybrid crawling behind him. He marched right up to John and held out the leash. John glanced down and saw that the hybrid had short, light blond hair, and at the side of his head were two floppy dog ears. He had a bushy tail which was currently stiff and at attention to complete the look . The hybrid wore dark jeans and a black tank top, with a badge clipped to his shirt stating he was one of the hybrids on the police force.

"You must be John. I'm Mark Sidman, this here's Leo. I'm his trainer."

John looked at the offered leash then to Sidman, unsure what's going on. He sent a questioning glance to Lestrade who stepped forward to explain.

"I know you're uncomfortable at the prospect of having Sherlock follow you around like most hybrids do, so I asked Sidman to lend us Leo to help get you used to it. Just, take the leash and take him out for a walk."

The doctor gaped at the inspector.

"You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

Wendall walked up and crossed his arms, staring at John critically.

"No, we're not. It's already risky enough having some civilian coming in on a case like this, we're not going to increase that risk just because you're too lovey dovey with your hybrid."

John was just biting down the urge to slam the man into the wall when Lestrade gave the officer a warning glare.

"Back off, Wendall. They're doing us a favour agreeing to go undercover."

Wendall huffed and rolled his eyes, but kept quiet.

"John, if you can't even deal with a hybrid you don't know crawling after you, how will you handle having Sherlock do it? We need you to be used to it so you can focus on getting information once you're in there, not constantly thinking that Sherlock's crawling around behind you."

With a grimace, John took the leash. He looked down apologetically at Leo who had sat down beside Sidman's feet, waiting for orders. The hybrid didn't make any sort of acknowledgement and simply raised himself onto his hands and knees, crawling a few steps to John's side.

Lestrade looked at his watch.

"OK, we'll give you an hour. Go take him out for a bit, wherever you want. Try to stay around lots of people to get used to it. Be back here by 1 and we'll test out the camera and microphone."

John nodded and started walking for the door, his steps uncertain. Should he walk regularly? Would that be too fast? Should he talk to Leo as they walk?

"Oh, and John...," Lestrade's voice made the doctor pause and look back, " Don't do anything ridiculous like...trying to take him for lunch or something."

John gave him the best exasperated look he could manage, "Oh for gods sake! I know! I know!"

He slammed the door behind them before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders.

"All right then, Leo. Let's walk."

The hybrid beside him made no sound but followed obediently.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

  
It wasn't until dinner time that John and Sherlock managed to catch a cab home. In the car, Sherlock proudly looked at the target practice paper he had used, feeling happy that Lestrade had let him keep it. The outline of a man was riddled with bullets but the majority were gathered around the head and heart. It hadn't been difficult to adjust his aim after a few test shots, and Sherlock had quickly managed to learn how to shoot with deadly accuracy. Adams had been so impressed with his progress he had even asked for tips to aid with training new recruits in the future.

"The noise those things make is awful though, so loud. Adams said maybe they can fit my gun with a silencer when we actually go on the case, but that will make it more difficult to hide it," Sherlock pouted, folding up the target practice paper, "What did they have you do, John? Anything interesting?"

The doctor recalled his day and sighed. It had been exhausting, and he hadn't even really done anything. After the walk with Leo, the tech guys had brought in various micro-cameras and microphones to see which ones would work best. Some looked like buttons, others were disguised as pins, they even had one as a stud earring which John adamantly refused. Ear piercings were not on his to-do list. They tried to fit him for earpieces too so he could hear the officers on surveillance, but it made him feel half deaf since they muffled the sounds in one ear. Plus it was difficult to hide the wire since John's hair was so short.

Leo had followed him around the whole time, never saying anything. It was unnerving, the hybrid had been so quiet that sometimes John had forgotten he was even there.

"Not really, just checking camera and stuff. You know, making sure we don't get stranded in the middle of a fight club with murderers running around and all."

"I saw you walk by the shooting range with that one hybrid."

"Ah, yeah, Leo. He's on the police force. Apparently Lestrade thinks I need practice in how to be a dickhead."

Sherlock laughed and leaned against the doctor's shoulder.

"You do. You're horrible at it. There's no way anyone would believe you're capable of sending your hybrid into a fight club at this rate."

John threw him a huffy glare and gave the brunet's ear a light chomp, using his lips to cover his teeth so it wouldn't actually hurt. Sherlock mewled and his ear twitched in protest

"But it was so weird to have someone follow me around. I knew he was there, but at the same time he didn't say anything or do anything. If I looked straight ahead, he wasn't even in my field of vision."

Sherlock frowned and looked at John with a strange look in his eyes.

"John...didn't you notice?"

"Notice what?"

"That hybrid's throat. There was a scar."

"Wh-what?" The older man gasped in surprise. He thought back to the time he had spent with Leo, trying to remember any distinctive marks around his neck. The hybrid had kept his head down the whole time, John hadn't had a chance to see his throat. "No...I don't think I saw that."

"It was light, probably got it years ago. Police hybrids are sometimes bred...specially. Their DNA tampered with to make them extra obedient, some have their senses strengthened to aid with police work. Some of them are made without the ability to speak, that makes them useful in cases that require sensitive information. If they get caught, they can't reveal any secrets. That hybrid you were with today had a scar though, right where his vocal chords would be, so I think he wasn't bred to be a police hybrid, otherwise he would just be born without them."

"You're...you're saying he couldn't speak?" John looked at Sherlock in horror.

"It would explain why he was so quiet. Did he make any sounds at all today? He was with you for hours."

Cobalt eyes narrowed as John tried to recall the day. Did Leo make any sort of noise? Anything that would require his vocal chords?

"No...no he didn't."

Sherlock nodded and sat back.

"Then he probably can't speak. Hybrids are very convenient to have around for police work. Enhanced senses, obedient, and if they get killed there's no fuss like there would be if an officer is killed on the job."

That certainly didn't sit well with John. He stared gloomily at Sherlock, suddenly wishing he could go back and make use of Scotland Yard's shooting range.

Sherlock's eyes roamed over his owner, the clenched hands, the narrowed eyes, thinned lips, hunched shoulders. John was on the verge of breaking something if they kept on this topic.

"So, dinner! Can we do delivery? It's too late to start cooking once we get home," the brunet casually asked, changing the subject. Immediately, John breathed out and his posture softened a little as he turned to Sherlock.

"Yeah...delivery sounds good. Chinese?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, let's get Chinese. I want more fortune cookies."

John's chuckle made his companion smile and he cuddled up to the doctor. Tomorrow will be more training, and after a week, they'll be going in. Sherlock felt nervous and excited, but with John beside him, he felt everything would be OK.

 

* * *

 

** CHAPTER 18 END **

Just getting some details about the case out of the way.  We'll be going in soon, hold on everyone!!  On behalf of Sherlock kitty and John I thank all of you for your concern for their safety.  You're all so sweet <3 <3

 


	20. The Fight Club Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock head into their first night of undercover work. What will they find?

 

Sherlock sat in his armchair, legs curled up in front of him. His hands held the gun that Scotland Yard had loaned to him for the case. It felt heavy as he fingered over the trigger, all that power held back by one little lever. He sighed softly and reached up, scratching behind one ear. Months ago he was just another hybrid kept for his owner's pleasure. Now he was getting ready to aid Scotland Yard to break open a case. How in the world had his life ended up here? His ears stood up a little straighter at the soft ruffling that came from the direction of the bedroom. Well, of course, the biggest cause of the change in his life was in the form of one particular doctor.

It really hadn't been very long since their meeting in the hybrid market, but so many things had happened that it felt like a lifetime ago to Sherlock. He still remembered clearly the first few weeks as they stumbled around each other, testing out the borders and boundaries of each other. Sherlock in particular had to re-learn what he was permitted to do and what he wasn't. Crawling, kneeling, hiding his discomfort from John made the doctor frown, bad. Talking, cooking, hugging John made him smile and laugh, good.

Initially Sherlock had been cautious, always on the look out for traps, fearing that John will suddenly change one day and punish him for taking liberties. It had been difficult to convince himself to lower his guard and fully trust the doctor. John, however, had been endlessly patient and slowly, Sherlock realized his shield had fallen. His smiles became more genuine, his laughs more relaxed. He didn't hesitate anymore before touching the older man, and he didn't worry about getting hit for voicing his thoughts.

"Sherlock? You in here?" John's voice called out as the man appeared in the kitchen doorway.

He spotted Sherlock and smiled, walking over to give him a kiss on the top of his head.

"Good morning, did you manage to get some sleep?"

Sherlock had been a ball of energy last night, eager for today when they will finally head to the fight club at night. He couldn't sleep, fidgeting around in bed tossing and turning. Finally, the restless hybrid had given up altogether and sat down with his laptop, reading some news to try and calm himself down.

"I fell asleep on the sofa, but now I can't turn my head more than thirty degrees to the right. That is not a good place to sleep."

John laughed and gave him a sympathetic look, walking around behind Sherlock to wrap his hands at the base of the pale neck. Gently, he rubbed at the muscles there, pressing and stroking to try and loosen the strained tendons. Sherlock purred and leaned in, his head dropping forward, tail twitching where it was draped over the armrest.

"You should take a nap later, on the bed. You'll need to be fully awake for tonight," the doctor told him, leaning down to kiss his head.

Sherlock nodded absently, unable to think about anything else except how wonderful this felt.

"Uhn...I...made breakfast. It's on the kitchen table."

John smiled and pressed a little harder, working his fingers at the curve of Sherlock's neck. It felt tense, the muscles were hard, but under the pressure of his fingers they slowly loosened, causing Sherlock to mewl softly.

"I know, thank you. Did you eat yet?"

Sherlock turned and peered at John hopefully.

"No, I...I thought we could eat together..."

The doctor leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"On the sofa?"

An enthusiastic nod followed the question, Sherlock knowing exactly what eating on the sofa meant. He jumped up, straightening his dressing gown around himself and bounded into the kitchen to bring the plates of food over to the coffee table. John headed to the sofa and sat down on one side, opening his arms and immediately finding them full of one cuddling Sherlock. Long legs stretched out on the sofa as the brunet leaned back. He took one of the plates and held it for John as the doctor picked up a piece of peeled orange and held it to Sherlock's mouth.

It had been a while since they had time to indulge like this. They had been so busy preparing for the case that every morning they rushed out of the flat and down to Scotland Yard, coming back late at night too tired to cook. Today, however, Lestrade had told them to take it easy until the evening. They'll head to Scotland Yard later in the afternoon for a final check before going in. Lestrade, Sally, Adams and Rollfurd will wait in a disguised van about a block from the actual place, and once they make sure everything's OK, they'll give the signal for John and Sherlock to go. It shouldn't get too exciting tonight, just get inside, get a feel for the place, see how it all works, and then leave.

Hybrid fight clubs themselves weren't illegal, but most people still disliked them enough to stay away. Several attempts had been made to outlaw them but the activists couldn't push it through parliament. When hybrid fight clubs first started cropping up, the police used to raid them to bust drug deals and prostitution, so the organizers had taken precautions to hide the fights from the authorities. It had been a hassle finding the location for tonight. A special phone number circulated among those involved and every time a fight club was held they had to call the number to get a password and location. The number was changed often as extra security, but Lestrade had managed to wrangle it out of a drug dealer they busted in exchange for a deal. He had been a supplier of drugs at previous fights and told them that once they get into one, it'll be easier to get into others if they talked to the right people.

Sherlock swallowed his food and leaned up, licking John's fingers.

"Are you nervous about tonight?" He peered up at John.

"A little. These aren't exactly happy, friendly people we'll be meeting."

Slender fingers picked up a piece of toast and held it up for John, who took a bite.

"We'll be fine. As long as they don't find out we're with the police, they won't do anything to us."

"I know, but it just makes me uncomfortable. And having to treat you like...that."

For the first few days of training, they had kept Leo with John until he had gotten used to having someone crawl behind him. Once he could walk around without grimacing and looking guilty, they had switched Leo with Sherlock. That had almost made John give up this whole thing. Knowing it would happen and actually seeing it had been entirely different. To see his Sherlock on hands and knees, crawling towards him, leashed and head down obediently had made John almost punch out a window. He had felt so fiercely protective that he had to leave the room for a few minutes just to catch his breath.

Sherlock hadn't cared so much, although the position had initially made his muscles ache. He had gotten used to walking upright and his hands and knees were sore after an hour of crawling. He also had to remember things like not letting his tail trail behind him as it tended to when he was walking just on two legs. A few times, someone had ended up tripping or stepping on the appendage by accident making him yowl and hiss.

When they had John take Sherlock out of the building, it had been a strain for both parties. Sherlock couldn't rely on sight anymore since his head was down most of the time, and the noises around him had made him nervous now that he couldn't see. John walked slowly, making sure Sherlock wasn't getting dragged along, but that meant the people around them were walking past and sometimes they knocked into Sherlock in their haste. Then, the situation had been worsened when Sherlock's hand had accidentally landed over a piece of broken glass, causing a gash from the centre of his palm to the base of his thumb. It hadn't been a deep cut, but John had felt and looked so guilty afterwards when he bandaged it up that Sherlock thought he might lock himself away in the bedroom and sulk for an entire evening.

John hugged Sherlock tightly to himself, rubbing his ears and kissing them. Both of them enjoyed the rest of their breakfast quietly, sharing snuggles and soft kisses.

 

  
**~*~*~*~*~**

  
The two burst into Scotland Yard later that day, eager and anxious to get this evening done and over with. They had done some shopping earlier for clothes that would be more appropriate for their roles. John was wearing dark, navy blue jeans with a brown belt, a short-sleeved, silky black shirt tucked into the waist. He had left the top two buttons of the shirt undone creating a V shaped collar around his neck.

Sherlock's clothes were much more revealing, tight black leather pants that showed off his legs with every move coupled with a black tank top, fishnet in front and silky in the back. His collar was wrapped around his neck, the tag custom ordered for this case showing a fake address and contact information. The colour of his outfit contrasted sharply against Sherlock's skin making him seem even paler than usual. They had even gotten him a cuff for his tail, silver with elegant swirls carved into it. It sat near the base, sparkling when the light reflected off the surface.

Quickly, they were fitted with the cameras and microphones. For John, they pinned a silver pin of a coiled up snake on his shirt, the eyes looking like a gemstones when in fact there was a camera lens in one. The microphone was only slightly bigger than a match head, attached to the inside of his shirt near the collar.

For Sherlock, it was a little more difficult since his clothes made it hard to hide anything. Instead, they got an ear cuff that had a camera built in and pinned the microphone to the underside of his collar, running the wire to the back, using his hair to cover it until it disappeared under his tank top. They couldn't risk ear pieces since they'll be talking to people in close vicinity and the wires behind their ears would be discovered, but the officers will be able to hear everything they say.

Lestrade and the other Scotland Yarders headed out first, setting up their equipment in the van. They had access to the CCTV cameras outside the establishment and they kept track of who went in and who came out. Around ten, Sherlock and John arrived, hiding behind some buildings and watching the entrance for a few minutes.

"Ready?" John's fingers gripped the leash in his hand tightly, glancing between the door and Sherlock.

"Yes, breathe John. We'll be fine," leather clad legs bent down as Sherlock got into position, looking up at his owner with a nod.

"Right, breathe. Breathe. Let's go."

The two stepped forward, John keeping his head up and trying to appear confident. Sherlock crawled after him, tail draped over his back as the muscles rose and fell with his movements.

From the outside, one couldn't tell there was anything there. The building looked small, but once John knocked, the door opened to reveal a man in a business suit. He smiled, looking friendly and inconspicuous, but he gave John and Sherlock a once over. At his side, hidden under the suit jacket, John detected the bulge indicating the presence of a gun.

"I'm looking for Mr. Brook. Mr. Richard Brook," John told him.

Immediately, the man's eyes lit up and his smile widened.

"Oh, lovely. New here? Haven't seen you around before."

"Yes, first time. I'm interested in the business Mr. Brook offers."

"Why yes of course, and what a lovely pet you've got with you."

The man bent down and ran his hand along Sherlock's jaw, tilting his head up. John swallowed as he felt his heart pounding, watching the man run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock kept his eyes lowered, never meeting the other's gaze like the obedient pet he was suppose to play. He was pliant, allowing himself to be inspected , but John saw how tense his tail was.

"Well, come in then. Come and join us," the guard finally beckoned, standing up and waving the pair in.

Inside the door was another set of doors, and the guard knocked three times before it opened. He motioned for John and Sherlock to go on in where another man was waiting. He was bigger than the first man, taller and clearly meant to intimidate.

"Watching or fighting?" He asked.

"Just watching, for now," John replied without missing a beat.

The man nodded and pointed to a set of stairs that led down.

"Door on the right, knock twice."

Sherlock followed John down the steps, noting that the doctor walked a little slower so that he wouldn't accidentally take a tumble down into the cement below. When they reached the door, muffled sounds could be heard from the other side. Loud music and an occasional cheer or scream. John rapped his knuckles on the door twice as instructed and it opened quickly.

"Good evening sir. Would you like someone to watch your hybrid for you?" The seductive voice of a woman floated out as a figure clad in a skin tight red dress appeared in the doorway.

"Uh, no, no, thank you. I'd like him with me."

"Very well," she purred, winking at him before stepping aside to let them in.

John swept his eyes over the room, taking it in. In the direct centre was a ring, boxed off by a metal fence with spikes at the top. It wasn't very high, only came up to about John's chest, but the spikes at the top looked fearfully sharp. Spotlights shone on the arena in keeping it well lit.

The periphery and along the walls it was dimly lit, but John could make out people mingling around. Some stood, holding drinks and watching the fight, others lounged in cushioned sofas and armchairs, looking more engaged in conversing than in the hybrids in the centre of the room. Beautiful women and handsome men walked around holding trays with drinks, offering them to the guests and in the corner there was a bar where people could order specific drinks.

All in all, it was much more...luxurious than the doctor had imagined. He let out a breath and walked in towards the ring. Two hybrids were already in there, and he could hear the growls and hisses as they lunged towards one another. A man and a woman sat on opposite sides of the arena, outside the fence, clearly the owners of the two fighters, watching. Both hybrids were female, one had small round ears on her head but her arms and legs looked unusually large, muscles bulging powerfully. The other was a slender fox hybrid. Her orange-ish tail was tipped white, ears large and at attention.

The fox hybrid leaped into the air, nails ready to strike like claws. The other one jerked back, dodging out of the way, but was caught in the arm, leaving four deep, bloody stripes. She twisted and rounded on the slender hybrid, lips pulled back and teeth snapping. Her jaws closed around the long, bushy tail and she yanked hard. The fox hybrid yelped, trying to kick and claw to get free.

"That's right, baby!! Keep at it!! Don't let her go!" The male owner yelled, leaping to his feet.

Blood dripped down the larger hybrid's chin as her teeth broke skin, staining the fur around her mouth. She reached out a hand and caught one of her victim's legs, flipping her over onto her back.

"DAMMIT! Get up! Get up Siren! Get that stupid bear off of you!" The female owner screamed at her hybrid.

Frightened, the slender fox hybrid hissed, trying to get away but the other hybrid pinned her down, clearly her muscular limbs having an advantage. Her teeth let go of the tail and she slammed a hand down into the smaller hybrid's chest, right between her ribcage. Before the fox hybrid could catch her breath, her attacker raised a hand, fist landing across the victim's cheek. A pained yelp echoed in the room, but the attacker didn't stop, slamming her fists down over and over again, until the cries softened into whimpers.

It was clear the fight was over and a man in a dark wine-coloured suit stepped into the ring. He had a gun drawn and shot at the ground, startling the larger hybrid into stopping her assault. She growled, eyes glaring, but she backed away as the man stepped in and checked the fox hybrid. A few onlookers looked up at the gunshot and gathered around the fence to see the final result.

"That round goes to Mr. Saton! Congratulations!!"

A few people applauded and cheered as the two owners headed into the ring. The man happily shook the ref's hand, then went to collect his hybrid as the lady went to the downed hybrid, who was barely conscious. John saw her face was swollen and her tail was a mess, but the owner only gave her a kick.

"Useless garbage! What the HELL was that?!"

John watched, swallowing down his urge to jump in. The hybrid was clearly in a lot of pain and needed medical attention fast, she probably had severe internal injuries, bruised ribs and clearly her tail was badly torn. Her jaw was at least dislocated from the pounding and it looked like she couldn't breathe properly.

The doctor felt a tug on the leash in his hand and looked down to find Sherlock glancing up at him. He looked much more composed than his owner, but his jaws were clenched tight. It looked like he had purposely pulled a cold, uncaring veil over his face to mask anything feelings he was having and his eyes looked almost dead. It was chillingly similar to when John had first saw him at the market.

The brunet nodded his head a bit towards one of the seats near the wall. A man sat, leaning back in an armchair and looking completely at ease. His arm was around a beautiful hybrid with sleek black wings who sat beside him on the armrest, legs crossed. A second hybrid knelt between his open legs, resting her head on his thigh. It looked like she had round ears similar to the hybrid who was in the fight, but her tail was long and slender, orange with black stripes. A tiger hybrid.

John cleared his throat and walked over, re-focusing his mind to the reason why he was here. Mingle, talk, get information, right.

"Is this seat taken?" The doctor asked, motioning to another armchair beside the man.

"Oh, no, go right ahead."

John nodded his thanks and sat down, Sherlock quietly crawling to his side and sitting back on his legs.

"He's a beauty, cat?"

"Yes, got him just a few months ago."

"Well lucky you. Look at those sharp eyes, I bet he'd be quite an opponent in a fight."

"We actually haven't been in any fights yet."

"Oh, no? First time? I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Yes, first time. I'm John, by the way," the doctor extended his hand.

The man immediately clasped it and gave him a warm handshake.

"Karl, with a 'K'. What do you think?" He gestured to the now empty ring.

"It's interesting. That was...pretty intense."

"Well it was obvious who would win. Anyone with an ounce of common sense wouldn't have put a fox up against a bear, but that lady, her name's Sandy, word is that she lost a ton of money in a bad investment recently, so she's trying to make some back through her hybrids. She's got a whole reserve of them back at her estate, every time she comes in you can be sure her hybrids will be fighting. Horrible tactician though, always puts her hybrids up against the toughest opponents. Granted if they win she makes a lot of money, but usually they end up half dead."

"Oh? How do they match up the hybrids? I was thinking maybe in the future I can put my Sherlock in a fight."

John reached down and ruffled Sherlock's hair, trying to sound as casual as possible. What he had saw made his stomach churn and just trying to imagine the pale hybrid in the ring was unbearable.

"In that case you'll want to talk to Timmings. He was that guy in the purple suit, the ref for tonight. He does the registrations for the fighters. The hybrids are split into different groups based on their breed. Level 1 are the lowest, the mice, rabbit and other rodent breeds. Then up from that in level 2 you get the cats and dogs, some birds too. Level 3 are some of the deer types, the ones with antlers, antelopes and such. 4 are the big cats, lions, tigers, panthers, along with the wolves. That's also the level for the birds of prey, eagles and the like. Level 5 are the highest, mostly the bears. They also separate the aquatic hybrids from the land-based ones. A cat fighting in water against a fish hybrid wouldn't exactly be fair.

Last time there was a match between a polar bear hybrid and a grizzly. That had been a sight to behold. By the end the ring was coated in blood.

Normally the hybrids fight in their own level, but you can request that they match your hybrid with a more powerful group. You'd get more money if your hybrid wins in that case."

John nodded, committing everything he was being told to memory.

"Well that makes sense. Have you ever had your hybrids fight?"

"Yeah, last time my baby here had a fight against an eagle. She's a crow hybrid, but she taught that eagle a lesson, didn't you?" Karl smiled smugly at the hybrid in his arm who leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"So, who runs these fights anyway? I mean, someone's got to pick the place and set all this up, right?"

Karl thought for a minute then shrugged.

"Don't know. Rumour is that it's a man, but that's all anyone knows. I've heard he sometimes comes to watch the fights, but if he does I've never met him and I've been coming for a while now."

"Karl, darling, it's so delightful to see you again!"

A woman sauntered up to them, leaning down to kiss the man on the lips. She glanced at John questioningly then held out a hand.

"Hello, I'm Christina."

John stood up and introduced himself. At her feet was a dog hybrid, muscular and even in the bad lighting John could see the scars on his naked torso.  They chatted for a bit, Christina perching herself on the armrest of John's chair.

"Well John, your Sherlock really is so adorable."

She bent down and stroked a hand down Sherlock's back, making him go rigid.

"Oh, I MUST go get a drink at the bar. John, be a dear, will you watch my boy for me? I'll just be a moment."

Before the doctor could respond, she had shoved the leash into his hand and walked off.

"It looks like another fight's starting, excuse me John. I'd like to see this one up close."

Karl smiled at the doctor and pulled his two hybrids along as he headed for the ring. This time it was a deer versus an antelope. The horns clashed loudly as people placed their bets and sat down by the ring to watch.

Sherlock glanced over at the dog hybrid the Christina had placed in John's care. His eyes were fixed on his owner who was taking her sweet time getting to the bar. She seemed to stop every few steps to talk to people and coo over their hybrids.

"Burger," Sherlock said quietly, reading the tag.

The hybrid's head turned and glared at Sherlock, turning back with a huff.

"Fight much, Burger?" Sherlock asked, keeping his voice quiet so no one else could hear.

He was promptly ignored and Sherlock flicked his tail in annoyance.

"Bet you're all muscle and no brain," he taunted.

In the blink of an eye, Burger was on him, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there with one hand around Sherlock's throat. He growled and lowered his face, snapping his teeth dangerously close to the pale hybrid's ears.

"Shut up."

John yanked both of their leashes and dragged Burger off of Sherlock.

"Knock it off, both of you!"

Sherlock and Burger lowered themselves to the floor in an act of submission, keeping their eyes to the ground

Sherlock stifled a smirk as he peered at the other hybrid through the corner of his eyes.

"Bet I can take you in a fight."

Burger's ears twitched and let out a warning growl.

"In your dreams. I can snap your skinny little spine in two."

Sherlock scoffed and narrowed his eyes at Burger.

"I happen to be a champion fighter in my previous city. Beat opponents a lot bigger than you."

He was rewarded with a disbelieving look.

"Liar. Prove it."

Sherlock's smirk widened. Perfect opening.

"My owner's too concerned that a lot of the hybrids fighting in London's fight clubs have turned up dead. He won't let me."

"Oh, the dead ones. Yeah, I heard about them too. I knew some of them."

"Yeah? You know how they died?"

"Nope. Some of them were winning pretty good for their owners."

"I heard the police didn't find any records of owners for them."

"That's because the police are idiots. What hybrid doesn't have an owner? Actually, one of the ones that got killed, I knew him pretty well. His owner comes a lot, still does. My owner asked about it but he just said he sold the hybrid and didn't know what happened after that.”

Before Sherlock could keep prying, Christina breezed back, taking the seat Karl had vacated and pulling her hybrid to her side..

“So, enjoying the show? Slow night tonight, nothing too exciting on the schedule from what I hear.”

John gave her a smile and shrugged.

“I'm just checking the scene out.”

“Ah, yours a fighter? He looks kind of slim.”

“Well, one of his previous owners had him doing some fights, but it's new for me.”

“Oh, well if you're looking to train him for it, I know some good places. They trained Burger here too, and he almost never loses these days.”

“Yeah? He does look like a tough opponent.”

“Totally. Once Burger sinks his teeth into someone he doesn't let go, isn't that right dear?”

She leaned down, scratching behind the hybrid's ears which made him smile proudly.

“You wouldn't happen to know who runs this, do you? I'd like to meet them before putting Sherlock in the ring.”

“Ah, sorry, love. That I don't know. I just show up where the voice on the phone tells me.”

“But they were saying how a low of hybrids have been turning up dead recently, and I heard a rumour it was connected to fight clubs. Aren't you worried? For your hybrids I mean.”

Christina shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

“Who knows. I haven't noticed anything suspicious around here, probably just a coincidence. Or you know what, maybe it's those activists. They've been breathing down our throats, trying to pass that law to make fight clubs illegal. Wouldn't surprise me if they went after hybrids associated with the fights just so they can point fingers and say the fight clubs killed them.”

John and Christina talked a bit longer but she couldn't offer anymore information. The fight in the ring was just as bloody as the previous one and by the end, the deer hybrid had gotten stabbed with the horns of the antelope hybrid. Luckily, it hadn't hit any vital organs, but John could see the poor thing wouldn't be walking anytime soon.

The two milled about a little longer, and in the early hours of the morning, headed out. It seemed no one knew exactly who ran these fights, all just rumours and gossip. Most people had heard about the killings, but no one seemed particularly concerned.

Aside from Karl and Christina, John had managed to talk with Timmings, the referee, who also knew nothing. He told John that he had been coming to fight clubs for years, which was most likely the reason he was chosen to ref. When he had called for the location this time, the voice on the other end had simply asked if he'd be interested, and when he said yes they told him to come half an hour earlier than the others. When he arrived, a badge indicating he was the ref of the evening was waiting for him, and that was that.

Sherlock tried to talk to a few other hybrids, but with their owners around it was difficult to converse without being heard. He managed to find out that several of the owners who had hybrids that were killed mentioned selling their hybrids directly before their bodies were found. It could have been a lie, but it felt odd that they would all come up with the same lie, but to whom they might have sold their hybrids to, neither John nor Sherlock could figure out.

As the pair staggered out into the evening air, both of them breathed a soft sigh of relief. Undercover, day one, finished. They walked a few blocks away before hailing down a cab. John's phone alerted him to a message from Lestrade as they climbed into the back seat.

_'Good work tonight. Go home, get some rest. Come to Scotland Yard tomorrow around noon, we'll discuss what we learned. - GL'_

With a sigh, John leaned back into the seat, unclipping the microphone. That had been exhausting. Sherlock pulled off his ear cuff camera as well as his own microphone before lying down on the backseat, head in John's lap. His arms and legs were tired form all the crawling around, and he had smelled way too much heavy perfume and cologne for one night. He had gotten petted, stroked, felt up, cooed over and one of the humans had even kissed his cheek. It had been excruciating, forcing himself not to move or show any sign of disgust at their touches. Sherlock longed to just wash away all of that, just climb into bed with John's arms around him, the doctor's soft breath tickling his ears as they fall asleep.

“You OK, love?” John asked softly, stroking his hair.

Sherlock nodded but huddled closer, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist.

“Are you hungry? Fancy a snack before bed?”

He shook his head, “No, just want to shower and sleep.”

John nodded even though Sherlock couldn't see, his body agreeing wholeheartedly with that idea.

“Sounds heavenly. Let's do that.”

He continued to pet Sherlock, rubbing his ears gently and massaging his neck for the rest of the ride. Both owner and hybrid were eager for a good night's sleep to wash away the horrible things they had witnessed tonight.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 20 END** _

Wow...that was fucking looooooong X__X  And I'm too lazy to go back and proofread, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know so I can fix it!

It is bloody difficult keeping my story flowing without loopholes (and trying to remember the names of all these extra characters ;_;), but I'm trying!!  I hope everything made sense this chapter, and people get some background info about hybrid fight clubs in this universe.  If anything's unclear, please let me know :3


	21. The Buyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misstep in John and Sherlock's investigation lands the two in hot water...very, VERY hot water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING!!
> 
> I don't want to spoil anything, but I don't want anyone stepping on triggers accidentally either. So, this chapter contains;
> 
> \- drugs  
> \- kidnapping
> 
> Please proceed at your own discretion!!

 

By the fourth time John and Sherlock infiltrated into the fight club, they had met most of the regulars. In the meantime, the body of the fox hybrid they saw in the first fight had turned up dead, tossed into the Thames. Many of her injuries from the fight were still present, but the killing blow had been her slashed throat. It looked like something had simply torn her jugular out causing her to bleed to death.

They kept an eye out for Sandy, the owner of the fox hybrid, but she kept didn't attend anymore fights until the pair went in for the fifth time. This time, she was there with a wolf hybrid, drinking a cocktail at the bar.

“You're Sandy, right? Your hybrid's fight was the first one I saw,” John smiled at her as he approached.

She looked him over and shrugged.

“Where is that little hybrid? She was cute, you know, the fox one.”

Sandy checked her nails completely disinterested.

“I got bored with her. Sold her.”

“Oh...that's too bad. Who did you sell her to?”

She shook her head, ginger locks falling gently around her shoulders.

“Some guy. I think he's here today, saw him earlier.”

John and Sherlock immediately felt a rush of excitement. The man buying the hybrids who then turned up dead was here, if they played this right, they might get to meet him.

“Really? Is he around now?”

Sandy's perfectly shaped brow raised and she looked suspiciously at John.

“What's it to you?”

“I-I was thinking I might want to sell Sherlock here. Need some extra money, you know. If this guy pays well, then I might consider it.”

She sighed and looked around but shook her head.

“I don't see him now. He had short hair, wearing a suit, blue I think. With a tie. You can try over in the holding room, he might be there looking over the hybrids on the schedule to fight tonight. If you do try to sell, drive your price up. That guy smells like money.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

John and Sherlock headed off, trying to see if they can find this man. Tonight Sherlock was dressed in a see-through purple shirt with trousers that were a shade darker. They headed for a corridor that led to the bathrooms. At the end, there was an opening where a door should be, but instead there was a beaded curtain. Inside was a holding pen where several hybrids rested, waiting for their turn in the ring. As they neared the room, Sherlock caught a whiff of a familiar smell. It was faint, but he had definitely smelled it before although where exactly escaped him. John pushed the curtain apart and walked in, drawing the attention of the guard.

"Sorry, I'm looking for someone. Man, blue suit, tie, has he been here?"

The guard just shrugged and shook his head, although several of the hybrids raised their heads at the description. John noticed and gave Sherlock a small nod before stepping closer to the holding area, peering in.

"These are the ones fighting tonight? Any of them look promising?"

While John engaged the guard in speculating about the matches, Sherlock crawled right up to the pen, peering in between the metal bars.

"You know the man my owner's looking for?"

He whispered to a young rabbit hybrid. The girl had curled up to the edge when she heard John earlier and Sherlock had a feeling she knew something.

"N-no," she replied timidly.

Sherlock reached a hand in and petted her fluffy ear. This one isn't going to stand a chance in a fight.

"My owner thinks he's doing bad things to hybrids. If you know where he is, it can help stop him."

She looked at him with wide brown eyes, clearly frightened.

"I...I saw him earlier. He came in to look us over. He smelled awful, like blood."

"How long ago was he here?"

"I don't know...about...an hour? M-maybe. He kept touching me and some of the others. Said we'd make great prey, the way he said it was horrible," she shuddered and closed her eyes.

Before they could talk more, a man peeked his head in to call out the next two fighters. The guard hustled John and Sherlock out and the pair headed back to the main room. Just as they got to the mouth of the corridor, however, Sherlock froze. The scent he had smelled earlier suddenly slammed into him and a flood of memories followed.

"H-He's here...," Sherlock whispered, body on full alert. His eyes flew around the room, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell, his arms crouching down like a cat preparing to leap into action.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

The sensitive nose sniffed and finally sharp eyes spotted the man. Slicked back hair, blue suit, stripped tie, sitting by the fighting ring with a male hybrid draped over him. As if the man felt Sherlock's attention on him, he looked over, eyes widening as he recognized the brunet. He stood up and straightened his shirt, tugging on his own hybrid as he strode over with a wide smile. Sherlock backed up a few steps, pulling on the leash and making John frown. The doctor watched the man approach and glanced at Sherlock who was clearly agitated by his presence.

"Sherlock? Who is he?"

"Why look who it is! Baby, darling, I've missed you!" The man's voice boomed before Sherlock could respond, "Is this your new owner?"

John instinctively stepped between the man and Sherlock, eyes narrowed. He didn't know who this person was, but if Sherlock didn't like him, then John wasn't going to let him near the pale hybrid.

"Yes. John Watson. You are..?"

"Ah, Mr. Watson, pleasure. My name's Sebastian Wilkes. I was his owner too at one point, lost him in a poker match though. Shame really, he was such a lovely pet. Have you had him give you some service with his mouth? He does the most amazing thing with his tongue, and if you pull his hair just right, the sounds he makes are exquisite."

John was close to strangling this man right then and there. So this was the guy, the human garbage that had put Sherlock through all that pain. The doctor's hand itched to pull out the gun stashed at his waist and put an end to his miserable life, but he bit down his rage.

"It's Doctor Watson, actually. Sherlock is...a wonderful companion, yes."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at John's tense reply, peering around the man to look at the hybrid behind him. Sherlock was huddling back, head down. He tried to keep himself from shaking, but it was difficult. Years of conditioning made him cower just hearing Sebastian's voice and to have him so close was frightening. He kept repeating in his mind that John was here, that John wouldn't let anything happen to him, that he was safe, but Sebastian's cologne was overwhelming and all if did was bring back wave after wave of memories he thought he had buried.

"Well that's a most interesting name you've given him, Doctor. I never bothered, waste of time giving a name to a bedroom pet. You know, if you're interested, Dr. Watson, perhaps we can have some fun with him together? I would love for my pets now to see how a pro does it. It took a bit of training, but we managed to get him broken in so wonderfully, didn't we baby?"

Sebastian reached out, ready to pet Sherlock, but John's hand immediately shot out and grabbed his wrist. The doctor's mind was racing, trying to push his feelings aside so that he could think straight. Sebastian was the man buying up the hybrids that ended up dead. He must be connected somehow to the killings. If they could find out how, they can put the man behind bars for good.

"Actually, Mr. Wilkes, I have a better proposal. I'm entertaining the possibility of selling Sherlock, need some cash. Would you be interested in buying him back?"

The brunet whimpered and John prayed he hadn't taken the words to heart. Please let Sherlock realize he was acting, please.

Sebastian's eyes widened and his lips twisted in a smile.

"Is that right? Well...that certainly is an interesting proposal. How much were you thinking?"

John shrugged and looked back at Sherlock as if assessing him.

"A few hundred at least. Like you said, he is very...good."

Sebastian tapped a finger to his lips, thinking it over. He stared down at Sherlock, then up to John.

"May I inspect him? Have to check the goods."

Gritting his teeth, John nodded.

Sherlock held still as he felt the man approach closer. Sebastian squatted down and ran a hand over the lean back, pulling up his shirt to check his skin. A hard hand felt around the base of his tail and Sebastian frowned feeling the scar. Then, he pulled at the back of Sherlock's neck making him choke in surprise.

"Up," he commanded.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock replied without thinking, his body on autopilot.

John was halfway to telling Sebastian to fuck off before Sherlock's eyes met his. He gave his head a small shake, indicating for John to not interfere as his ex-owner's hands ran down his chest, brushing over a nipple and pinching it. Sherlock's breath caught but he kept still, cheeks flushing with shame at the fact that John was watching all of this.

Without warning, Sebastian snapped his fingers right beside Sherlock's ear.

"Present," he ordered sharply.

The slender back bent forward and Sherlock went down on his forearms, raising his rear into the air, just like he had done the first time he thought John and him were going to have sex. He hadn't even realized he was doing it until he was in position already and his ears pressed to his head in despair. He thought he had gotten past all his training already, he thought John had managed to erase all of it, but his body still remembered. All it took was a word, a tone and down he goes. Sherlock buried his face in his arms, shaking. He felt like crying, but he couldn't, not here.

That was the limit for John. He knelt down and ran his fingers gently through the soft curls, glaring at Sebastian.

"I think that's enough, Mr. Wilkes."

Sebastian laughed a bit, petting his own hybrid as his eyes gazed hungrily at Sherlock.

"Well, he's still as obedient as before. Come with me to one of the back rooms and we can talk about the details of the deal, it's too noisy here."

Another fight had started and people were cheering and applauding. John nodded his agreement and followed after the other man. He actually hadn't been aware there were other rooms, but Sebastian led them down a hallway that had only one door at the end. He opened it and motioned for the doctor and his hybrid to go in first, following after and closing the door behind him.

The room was better lit than the arena area. There was a queen sized bed in one corner, canopied and quite elegant looking. Out in front there were two velvet sofas facing each other with a coffee table set between them.

In the bright lighting John noticed that Sebastian's hybrid had a ball gag in his mouth. A rope was tied to the back of his collar and it trailed over his naked back, running parallel to his spine. It disappeared under the waistband of his pants and John didn't want to think where the other end was tied to. His ears were triangular with a fully, bushy tail, pure white and quite beautiful.

"Arctic fox hybrid," Sebastian explained, catching John's puzzled stare.

"Oh...interesting."

"Yes, cost me an arm and a leg to get him. Still needs some training, but he's getting there,"

Sebastian sat down on one of the sofas and looked at his hybrid expectantly. John watched as the pet crawled out in front of his owner and the man swung his legs up, resting them on the hybrid's back like a footstool.

The doctor almost laughed at himself for thinking the man would just let the hybrid curl up at his feet. Of course, why not, why not use your pet like furniture? Because clearly that is so fucking logical. He shook his head and strode over to the other sofa, sitting down with a huff. Sherlock knelt beside him, resting his head on John's thigh as the man gently stroked his hair and rubbed his ears.

"Something to drink perhaps? I have a direct line to the bar," Sebastian motioned to a phone that rested on a small table beside his sofa.

"Uh, whatever your having is fine."

The man picked up the phone and placed an order for two scotch on the rocks before turning back to John.

"So then, back to our...Sherlock was it?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"You said a few hundred, that's a pretty big range. How does four hundred sound?"

"I have some interested buyers that will go up to seven hundred."

"Seven hundred? Hm...well, considering the time and effort I put into him, that certainly is a fair price, but I have so many hybrids these days. Would you consider a trade?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilkes, I'm afraid that won't do."

"How about Five fifty? I'll have to send him to a hybrid house for a few months to re-train him, so I'll give you half of his earnings from there too."

"Oh I think you can do better than that. Six hundred and three quarters of his earnings."

Contemplative eyes peered at Sherlock, then up to John. Finally, the man let out a huff of laughter.

"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Watson. Fine, you've got yourself a deal. Six hundred, plus three quarters of his earnings for four months, that sound fair? I'll have the papers drawn up and we can meet tomorrow to finish the transaction."

John nodded, his fingers trialing to the back of Sherlock's neck and giving him a soft squeeze at the collar. Sherlock was his, and even as an act the doctor felt disgusting for negotiating a price for his sale.

Just then, someone knocked on the door and a waiter came in holding their drinks. He set the glasses down on the coffee table then quickly bowed out.

Sebastian offered one glass to John and picked up another one himself.

"Well, a drink to seal our deal then!"

The two clinked their glasses and took a sip.

"You know, I've heard you've been coming to a lot of the fights recently, Dr. Watson," Sebastian smiled at him.

"A few."

"You're a military man, yes?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, just, sources. Plus you hold yourself like one. I've got some buddies who are just like you."

"Just like me? How so?"

"Can't adjust to civilian life, always seeking that thrill they had on the battlefield. When they see blood you can see the excitement in their faces."

"Bloodshed doesn't appeal to me."

"Oh, of course not. You're a doctor, after all. Which is why it's surprising that you would come to fight clubs to seek your thrills."

"I'm just here to watch."

By now, John had downed about half his drink. The room was feeling incredibly hot and when he looked again Sebastian's smile had widened. A horrifying realization dawned on the doctor as his focus blurred and he felt himself losing his grasp on consciousness. Drugged.

"Just here to watch...as surveillance for Scotland Yard, no?"

John jolted at the question. He quickly reached back to pull out his gun, pressing the weapon into Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock, RUN!"

He tried shouting as clearly as possible before attempting to stand up and face Sebastian, but his legs weren't working and he toppled forward, slumping across the coffee table.

"John!" Sherlock cried out, immediately checking his owner's pulse as his eyes widened in realization, "What did you do to him?!"

Sebastian's smile disappeared and he swung his legs down to the floor, rising to his full height. Sherlock aimed the gun and was just about to pull the trigger when the door slammed open and two guards barged in. One of them knocked Sherlock down, grabbing his wrist and twisting the slender arm behind his back until Sherlock yelped in pain and finally released the gun. The guard's meaty hand wrapped tightly around the pale neck and ripped his collar off along with the microphone before getting rid of his ear cuff camera as well.

The other man grabbed a semi-conscious John who tried struggling, pulling off his surveillance equipment too.

Sebastian laughed as he watched, having drawn his own gun in the confusion.

"John, wake up, John!"

Sherlock screamed, kicking and clawing even though he was pinned to the floor. Sebastian held the gun to John's head and sneered at Sherlock.

"Keep quiet, baby. We wouldn't want anything to happen to our good doctor here, would we?"

Helplessly, Sherlock stilled, knowing his ex-owner would have no qualms putting a bullet in John. He felt his hands being tied behind his back as a blindfold was wrapped around his eyes, committing him to darkness.

"Be good baby, it's going to be just like the good old day...and your darling doctor's going to watch all of it," Sebastian's voice purred right beside his ear, the barrel of the gun trailing down his back and pressing tightly at the base of his tail.

Sherlock whimpered, feeling pure fear closing around him, except it wasn't for himself. He can handle whatever Sebastian has in store for him, he had lived with the man for years, but what are they going to do with John?

"Get them out of here, make sure you're not tailed."

The cold voice barked as Sherlock was hauled up. His legs were quickly tied and a piece of tape was slapped over his mouth to keep him quiet before he felt himself being lifted and carried. He wanted so desperately to fight, but not when they had John hostage too. Silently, he threw out a prayer to anyone who might be listening, please, please, let the doctor be OK.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 21 END** _

*Hides behind a fortress of pillows*

Um...angst warning for next chapter?


	22. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man behind the hybrid murders appear and he gives Sherlock a choice...  
> (No major violence or bloodshed in this chapter.)

 

John groaned as his mind slowly came to. His body felt cold, but his arms burned, and he was lying on something hard. He tried to get up but immediately found that he couldn't move his hands to balance himself, and his legs weren't cooperating either.

“John? John...wake up.”

The voice that called to him was filled with concern and it prompted the doctor to force his eyes open. His eyes flooded with light and it hurt his head. He squinted trying to see, wishing he could use his hands to rub his eyes.

“John?”

The voice came again, accompanied by what sounded like chains being jangled. Finally, the doctor's vision focused and the blur in front of him morphed into the shape of one pale hybrid.

“Sher..lock...”

His own voice was croaky, the throat muscles still half asleep to function properly. Hazy eyes peered at his companion, noting the dishevelled hair and torn clothing. Sherlock's cheek sported a bright, red hand print, clearly from being slapped, his shirt gone and pants ripped. One of his ears was drooping, possibly from an injury since the other one was standing alert. John wondered why the brunet didn't come closer, and then he realized that Sherlock was restrained.

Graceful hands were bound behind his scarred back, wrists to elbows. A length of rope was wrapped around his chest, binding his upper arms tightly to his sides. A thick chain was hooked to the rope, right between his shoulder blades, and the other end of the chain was attached to a hook that hung from the roof, keeping Sherlock's upper body suspended in the air. It left him with no choice but to kneel on the floor, his thighs parted by a spreader bar, the slender limbs locked into place by the metal rod. Around his neck was a new collar which sported a large ring in front. In the back, a length of rope connected the collar to the base of his tail so that Sherlock couldn't lower his head.

It took a few minutes before the doctor realized he too was restrained, although not nearly as much as Sherlock. His own hands were cuffed behind him by something metal, possibly handcuffs from the feel of it. Something was around his own neck too, and he guessed it was probably a collar much like the one on Sherlock. He looked behind himself and found there was a thick 'Y' chain attached to the wall. One of the branches connected to his cuffs while the other was hooked to the back of his collar, effectively keeping him from taking more than a few steps away. His legs weren't bound in any way, so John straightened himself up from where he was lying on the floor, sitting up to lean against the wall.

“Where...where is this?”

Sherlock's tail flicked just a bit hearing John's voice, his eyes showing just a bit of relief that his owner seemed to be coming back to his senses.

“We're right outside London, in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. Sebastian drugged you and brought us here, do you remember? You've been out for almost a day now.”

He instinctively tried to get closer to John but the chain kept Sherlock in place.

John tilted his head back against the cold wall, trying to think. Sebastian, drugs, fight club, infiltration, right. The memories filtered back into his brain, a trickle at first until the pieces all fell into place. He looked around the room trying to assess their situation. The place was damp, basement as Sherlock had said, it wasn't a big room, and there wasn't much in it. Sherlock was bound near one wall, and John directly opposite him. In one corner there was a dirty looking sofa with a crude little table in front. Beside it was a tall cabinet made of solid steel. The room had a few narrow windows that ran along the top of the walls, too narrow to allow for escape, although at the moment they allowed sunlight from outside to shine in weakly. From the centre of the ceiling was a light that was turned off, and there was one door, the only exit out of this place.

With a grimace, John pushed himself off the floor and tried walking to Sherlock, but his restraints kept him from taking more than three steps forward. He yanked and jerked on the chain but it didn't budge and he growled in frustration.

“John, don't. You'll just hurt yourself. The drugs are still in your system, give it time to be flushed out.”

The doctor shook his head angrily, unwilling to admit defeat.

“We don't have time. We need to get out of here, who knows what Sebastian will do if he comes back. He knows we were working for Scotland Yard.”

Sherlock tried to nod but ended up choking a bit as the collar bit into his neck.

“I know...Lestrade and them raided the fight club just as we were carted out. I heard the sirens...but they had a gun on you, I couldn't do anything.”

The blue eyes looked so guilty as his tail and both ears dropped. He had wanted to take this case, and now they were trapped. If anything happened to John, it would be all his fault, Sherlock snapped at himself.

“Hey, it'll be OK, we'll get out of this somehow,” the doctor tried keeping his tone light and encouraging, but the feeling of dread in his stomach only grew.

They had been here for a day, if Lestrade hadn't found them by now it meant Sebastian and his thugs must have hidden their tracks fairly well. Plus, given what Sherlock had told him about what his ex-owner was capable of, John was feeling terrified of what he could do now that he had the brunet back in his clutches.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Did they do anything to you?” John tried to change the subject, running his eyes over Sherlock where he could see. No sign of blood, which was good, but clearly the position and restraints couldn't be comfortable.

“N-no...Sebastian kicked me around a bit before he tied me up, but nothing serious.”

John wished so desperately he could free Sherlock and take him into his arms. His beautifully expressive eyes tried to look brave, but John could see the fear behind the shield. Being back at the mercy of Sebastian was one of Sherlock's biggest nightmares and now it had come true. The worst was that the older man couldn't say anything to comfort him, everything he said would be lies so long as they're held captive. He can't make things OK, he can't promise Sherlock wouldn't get hurt, he can't predict they'll be rescued before any harm comes to them, heck, he didn't even know if they'll make it out of this alive.

“Sherlock, look at me. We're going to make it out of here. We'll be fine. We'll get out and put that bastard behind bars for good, OK?”

The lies burned on his tongue, but John needed to say something to at least try and make Sherlock feel better. Anything, even lies.

Sherlock whimpered but nodded, trying to smile.

“Yes...yes, we'll be OK.”

The door to the room slammed open, crashing into the wall with a noise that echoed for several seconds. Both captives flinched, eyes flying to the entrance to see who it was. Sebastian Wilkes stood, grinning in pleasure as he eyed over the two, stepping in with another man behind him.

"How's our kitty doing, hm? This room is quite reminiscent of the one we used to play in, isn't it? Bringing back any pleasant memories?"

Sherlock's low growl made his whole body vibrate as his eyes narrowed. John watched with bated breath as their captor circled the agitated hybrid, his hands fisting behind him in anger.

"Leave him alone, you bastard. Don't you dare touch him!"

Both Sebastian and the stranger laughed at the empty threat. Sherlock's ex-owner grabbed a handful of curls and yanked the head back, making Sherlock whine at the strain. Sebastian ignored him, aiming his taunting smirk at John instead.

"And what will you do to stop me?"

The doctor yanked on his chain, knowing it wouldn't do any good but still so angry and frustrated. It only caused the other two men to laugh harder. Sherlock's tail flicked as his eyes darted desperately between the man gripping his hair and the stranger. He needed a way to distract them, buy some time. Gently, he trailed his tail over Sebastian's hand, peering at him with the most pitiful look he could muster up.

"Please...sir...it..it hurts..."

Immediately, cruel eyes darkened at the soft plea and John watched in horror as the hand released the tangled curls, trailing down Sherlock's cheek to grasp his chin. The hybrid mewled but didn't struggle when the man covered the soft lips with his own. Unable to keep watching, John turned his head away, his nails digging into the palm of his hands.

The other man who had been watching sauntered closer to the doctor. He leaned against the wall, just out of John's reach, crossing his arms and ankles watching the display of Sebastian and Sherlock. The smirk on his face was of completely joy as bright eyes flickered between John's disgusted expression and the soft sounds coming from the pair.

"Oh come now, Dr. Watson, don't you enjoy watching? Look at your little pet, see how much he's enjoying it?"

The eyes glinted with cruelty as the man turned his head and looked at John directly, his smirk wide.

"Wouldn't you like that? To feel him utterly under your control? Have complete power over his needy body, make him squirm and beg for you. For the pain and pleasure only you can give to him."

By now, Sebastian was looking too, his hand carding through Sherlock's hair. Usual bright blue eyes were trained on the ground, ashamed and embarrassed to look at John. Sherlock had thought being back under Sebastian's control was his worst nightmare, but he had been so wrong. This was worse, much, much worse. Having John here to bear witness was humiliating and he struggled not to draw back into himself. It would be easier to close himself off, to just not feel anymore, but he had worked so hard under the doctor's care to pull those shields down that he felt stubbornly unwilling to give up so easily. It won't be like before, he won't be the obedient, passive pet he once was.

In a flash of defiance, Sherlock snapped his head up, knocking Sebastian's hand from his head. Sharp teeth latched onto flesh and bit down hard until the coppery taste of blood exploded in his mouth. Sherlock refused to let go even as the man howled and flailed his arm about.

The man standing next to John watched, calm and unmoving. He sneered and pulled out a gun, taking aim and firing right near Sherlock's knees rested on the ground. The sound silenced everything else as the man took aim once more, this time with the barrel directed at John's head.

"That's enough. Let go unless you want the doctor to end up with a hole through his brain."

Sherlock's glare was like ice as he let go, knowing he was in for a world of pain but still feeling somewhat victorious. Before anyone could do anything, Sebastian's uninjured hand slammed across pale cheeks, snapping the hybrid's head to the side.

"You little shit. I'm going to feed you to the fucking vultures before this is over."

Trying to draw the attention of their captors away from Sherlock, John made a dive at the man beside him. He was nowhere near enough to actually hit him, but it achieved his aim as the man jumped back a few steps, making a scoffing noise.

"Let me guess, Mr. Wilkes, you're responsible for those hybrids ending up dead, yeah? And who the fuck is your lackey here?"

Sebastian didn't move but his eyes flickered to the other man. John shuddered as he took a good look at the stranger. His eyes were cold, void of care. They seemed amused, but in the way a child might look right before he pours boiling water down an ant hole.

"Wrong on both accounts, doctor," the smooth voice replied, "Sebastian is only responsible for purchasing hybrids for our hunts. The killing is a privilege left for out clients. After all, hunts are only entertaining when there are prey to be hunted."

The man started circling John, head tilted to one side. He was dressed expensively in a form fitting suit that accentuated his slim body and although he wasn't very tall his every step exuded power and confidence.

"As for me, well, I suppose it's rude to not introduce myself. My name is Jim, Jim Moriarty. I would recommend you remember that name, but you won't live long enough for it to matter. Did you honestly think that Scotland Yard could fool us? Sending you two in undercover."

His laugh sent a shudder through John as he kept his eyes trained on the man, feeling cornered and far too much like a mouse being toyed with by a bored cat.

"Sebastian recognized his little pet over there immediately on our cameras, the very first night you set foot in our neighbourhood. That photo of him in the news made us suspect that Scotland Yard was involved, and it didn't take much digging to confirm our suspicions. Child's play."

John tried to calm himself, pulling himself up as tall as he could to show that he wasn't intimidated.

"So Wilkes buys the hybrids, you take them out as prey for hunting? Is that the game?"

"You can always find owners frustrated with pets that aren't winning, willing to sell at low prices. The wealthy get bored so easily, did you know? They crave excitement. A fight every once in a while might satisfy initially, but soon they yearn for more. Watching hybrids tear each other apart pales in comparison to having the power to take their lives first hand. My hands are clean of blood, you know. I have never killed. Blood is utterly impossible to get out of suits. I merely provide a service that is in demand. That's all, doctor."

John's wrists burned as he tugged on them. The anger that boiled inside him made his whole body tremble. A game. A fucking game. That was all, just to relieve boredom these people killed all those hybrids. Moriarty tsk'ed at him as he airily glided over to Sherlock, running his hand along the trapped hybrid's back. Even from across the room, John could see that Sherlock was frightened, his body shaking, eyes clenched shut. He was clinging to the last thread of sanity, but it was slipping and panic was setting in.

"But Sherlock here is too precious for such an end, isn't he?" Moriarty's voice boomed, going to stand beside a smiling Sebastian, "Much too precious. You don't find a pet like him very often. We must hold a special party for such a special little pet."

The knot in John's stomach tightened as the two men grinned knowingly at each other. Sebastian took Moriarty's gun from his hand and stepped a bit to the side. He took aim at John and clicked off the safety, making Sherlock's ears twitch as his eyes flew open.

"NO! No! Don't!"

Moriarty's hand latched onto Sherlock's throat and squeezed, causing the brunet to choke. Lips grazed over tense cat ears as the man's free hand yanked on the rope tied to the back of Sherlock's collar, making him yelp as it jerked on his tail.

"Here's your choice, sweetheart. We can shoot the good doctor now, or, since me and Sebastian are in a good mood, we'll give you a chance to save him. A fight with another hybrid, you win, Dr. Watson lives another day. You lose, and it's good night Vienna."

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 22 END** _

Sorry for the late (and short) update, especially after leaving the last chapter on such a cliffhanger OTL

I wanted to write a bit more before updating but then I thought it'd be better to give you guys what I've got to tie you over.  I will be adding individual chapter warnings in the future chapters so please check those before diving in just to make sure you don't hit anything trigger-y accidentally.


	23. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is put into a fight with the threat of John getting killed should he lose. Will our kitty be OK?
> 
> WARNING: Descriptions of physical violence!

 

Sherlock paced the cage he was trapped in, eyes nervously glancing at the door. The room before him reminded him of that first night when John and him had infiltrated the fight club, but there was no one else around except a guard at the door. A fence went around the ring and Sherlock could smell the faint scent of blood from past fights.

When Moriarty had presented him with the "choice" to fight or not, his decision was made before the man had even finished his sentence. If he didn't, John would die. If he did, at least there was a chance of winning and keeping the doctor alive. Sherlock refused to entertain the possibility of losing John, because if that happened there would be nothing left for Sherlock to cling on to. Even if Lestrade rescues him, if the doctor doesn't make it, where would he go? Back on sale? Into the hands of another owner? He can't, he needed to go back to Baker Street, with John at his side.

Sherlock gripped the bars of the cage and took a deep breath.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the retired army doctor was shoved in. His hands were still cuffed behind him, and they had tied a blindfold around his eyes. Sebastian kept a gun pressed to his back while Moriarty walked in front, holding onto a leash they had attached to John's collar. The doctor stumbled, his steps uncertain since he couldn't see, and Moriarty pulled him along roughly. The trio stopped at a small cage beside the fight ring and Sebastian shoved his prisoner inside, locking the door before tugging his blindfold off.

An angry hiss feel from between Sherlock's lips, ears flatting against his head at the way his owner was being treated. It caught Moriarty's attention and he walked over to the frustrated hybrid, reaching a hand in to scratch at his ears. Sherlock was sorely tempted to bite, but with Sebastian's gun was still trained on John he bit down the urge.

"Now, now, sweetheart. Save your energy for the fight. We chose a lovely opponent for you to show off your prowess."

Sherlock's tail lashed about behind him, staring down at his captor.

"John doesn't need to see this. Why did you bring him here?"

The shorter man chuckled and gave Sherlock's hair a light ruffle like he was placating an agitated pet.

"Don't be dull, Sherlock. Our good doctor here should bear witness to your heroic act of saving his life."

Sherlock gave the bars of the cage an enraged rattle, snapping his teeth at Moriarty. He didn't want John to see, he wanted John as far away as possible. Sherlock had some experience fighting, although he was rubbish at it especially considering his lack of practice in recent years, but even if he didn't he knew what was in store . Watching the other fights during their time undercover, Sherlock had no illusions that blood will be shed, and in this case, it really is going to be life or death. If he loses...

Worried eyes peered over at John, who gazed back. The doctor was silent, but he gave the brunet a small, hopefully assuring, smile. There was a thread of fear in his eyes but John shielded it as best as he could. When Moriarty had first proposed to Sherlock this fight, John almost choked. He had experienced almost dying back in Afghanistan and it was far from pleasant. At that time he had prayed so hard to live, he had wanted to survive above all else. But now...given the choice between Sherlock risking getting torn to shreds or getting a bullet in his own head...

He didn't want Sherlock to fight, especially since Moriarty and Sebastian will be choosing the opponent. They hadn't set any ground rules, and John didn't expect them to follow the rules of the fight club. If Sherlock lost, and John is killed, what would happen to the brunet? If he is rescued, who would take care of him? He needed an owner, that was the law, who could Sherlock turn to if John was gone? Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? If rescue doesn't come...the doctor felt a rising sense of despair at that possibility and quickly shut his mind down to that thought. No, they will be rescued, Lestrade must be working to get them out.

Everyone's heads turned when the door opened once more. This time, another man led a hybrid in and it took a moment before John could figure out what the hybrid was of. The male had pure white hair, with small, round white ears and a short stubby white tail. It looked odd, the lack of colouring in the hair usually associated with the elderly, but this hybrid was clearly young and full of power. He was led to a cage on the opposite side from Sherlock and immediately bared his teeth at his future opponent.

"W-wait! You can't put Sherlock with him! That's a polar bear hybrid!!" John yelled in alarm as he gripped the metal bars of his cage.

"Yes, good observation, Dr. Watson. We noticed that too and picked him especially for Sherlock dear," Moriarty smirked in reply.

Fearful blue eyes widened as he stared at who he will be fighting. A polar bear hybrid...a hybrid of the largest land carnivore. Even at a casual glance anyone could see the sheer difference in their physical size. Sherlock was fairly tall, but the other hybrid was much taller, and while the brunet's figure was trim and slender, the other was stocky, built for attacking and pinning opponents down.

Moriarty cleared his throat and stepped to the centre of the ring. Two men stepped up to the cages that held the hybrids, ready to open the doors when given the signal.

"Gentlemen and hybrids! We welcome you tonight to a special fight between too of our most lovely specimen. In one corner, Sherlock Holmes! In the other corner! Uh...I'm sorry dear, I'm afraid your name escapes me at the moment. How about...Dim? Do you like Dim? Let's go with Dim, it sounds like a name fit for someone with all muscle and no brains, " Moriarty taunted as the hybrid growled and glared at the man, "In our other corner is Dim! Winner lives for another day, loser...well, unfortunately, I have no use for losers. And Sherlock, sweetheart, I have no use for ex-army doctors either if you lose."

With a sweep of his hand, Moriarty bowed and sauntered out of the ring, waving his hand to the men who manned the cages. They unlocked the doors and swung them open at the same time, releasing the two fighters into the ring.

Without waiting, the hybrid that Moriarty had named Dim stepped forward, standing at his full height, hands poised to strike down. Sherlock's steps were slower, more calculated, his eyes running over his opponent trying to detect weaknesses. They circled each other, each sizing the other up and waiting for a good tie to strike. Both of them were naked on top, wearing simple, tight black trousers with no belt and it showed the difference in their physiques clearly. Sherlock knew in a battle of pure strength he would lose instantly, so he needed to rely on his agility, speed, wear out the other hybrid and then take him down.

"I'm going to rip you to shreds kitty," Dim mocked as his mouth twisted into a nasty smile.

Sherlock didn't bother responding, his eyes instead looking past Dim to John, who was clenching his hands around the cage bars, watching. Any fear he had was gone, and now only apprehension remained.

The larger hybrid took that moment to pounce, lurching forward to try and catch Sherlock around the waist and knock him off his feet. Quick reflexes allowed the cat hybrid to leap back out of reach, eyes snapping back to his adversary. Sherlock landed on his feet and used the momentum to push himself forward, taking advantage of the fact that Dim was bent forward from the lunge. It left his back vulnerable and Sherlock's nails dug in deep, leaving four bloody scratches over the flesh.

Dim's yowl echoed in the room as he jerked up and turned, to face Sherlock once more. Knowing he had fully roused the attack instinct in the polar bear hybrid, Sherlock slowly took a few steps back. His heart was pounding and he couldn't hear anything expect the blood rushing through him and despite his best efforts, his brain was slowly descending from rational thought into panicked instinct. When Dim raced at him once more, Sherlock found his thoughts a mess and it was all he could do not to turn tail and run. When Dim leaped into the air to pounce on him, Sherlock tried to duck under and get away, but he wasn't fast enough and the bigger fighter managed to latch onto his tail.

Sherlock screamed as he felt teeth clamping on his tail, preventing him from escaping.

"SHERLOCK!"

Off to the side, John's voice rang out as his heart leaped into his throat from the sight.

Dim took the chance and wrapped both hands over the slender tail and yanked, trying to force Sherlock back into his grasp. The desperate hybrid kicked out, his foot catching Dim in the chin. Sherlock shook his tail and kept kicking until he was finally released. Feeling his own anger rising, Sherlock rounded and pounced forward, teeth aimed for Dim's throat. He didn't quite manage but caught the other hybrid's shoulder instead, sinking his teeth in until he tasted blood.

The bigger hybrid snarled and tried to bring his fists down, but Sherlock let go and hurried out of reach just in time. He leaned back against the fence that circled off the ring, panting, his bleeding tail flicking angrily behind him. His ears were tense, standing at full attention, trying to pick up every sound

Both hybrids stood their ground for a few seconds, just glaring at each other and trying to catch their breath. Sherlock's body was clearly already nearing the limit, not being used to such exertions. The rushing adrenaline was exhausting him, even as it gave him a rush of energy. He had to finish this quickly before his body gave up. Taking a deep breath, he crouched and ran at full speed towards Dim, who immediately tensed and readied himself for the attack. At the last minute, Sherlock darted faked a left then darted to the right. His fist landed right at the bottom of Dim's ribcage, knocking the breath out of the other hybrid. But he had miscalculated the recovery time and before Sherlock could land another hit, a fist landed to his own solar plexus.

Sherlock gasped and curled up as his body was hurled back and he landed on the ground. He couldn't breathe, and his vision swam. Desperately he tried to push himself up but nothing would cooperate.

Distantly Sherlock heard a voice calling his name and a presence looming over him. As he tried to focus his eyes on the blur above him, pain blossomed over his face and he was slammed into the ground once, twice, and by the third time he was barely conscious.

"SHERLOCK! Sherlock get up!! Sherlock, PLEASE!!" John felt tears in his eyes as he watched the brunet go down.

Dim had taken the opportunity to pin Sherlock down, grabbing his shoulders and smashing him to the ground over an over, landing punch after punch while slashing at the brunet's chest with his sharp nails until it was covered in blood .

John turned to Sebastian who was watching with a grin on his face, wishing he could reach out and punch that smug face.

" Stop this, just kill me and let him go!" The doctor was desperate to save Sherlock, and he didn't care anymore what that took.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, then peered over to Moriarty.

"Yo, boss! Our good doctor here is offering up his life for his little pet, what do you say?"

Sherlock's ears twitched as his brain hazily processed the words. John...John was in danger...John might...die...

With a flash of clarity, Sherlock's half-lidded eyes widened. No. He can't. John can't die. The man who had saved him, who had shown him kindness and caring, he can't die, Sherlock wouldn't permit it.

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock forced his legs to kick out catching Dim by surprise. Sherlock rolled out from under the other then turned and lashed out. He was half blind, unable to see clearly, but he felt his hands making contact and heard the grunts as the bigger hybrid staggered back, stunned at the sudden intensity of attacks. Sherlock caught sight of the nape of the Dim's neck and launched himself into the air, his arms wrapping tightly around the bulging neck as his teeth sank in.

Dim roared as he thrashed and tried to shake Sherlock off, but the slender hybrid held on. He tightened his arms, cutting off Dim's air supply, knowing that that would knock him unconscious within minutes. The larger hybrid attempted rolling around, hoping that would force Sherlock off, but it didn't work, so he reared up and slammed back against the fence repeatedly.

Sherlock wanted to cry out as his back as forced against the metal bars, but he clung on until finally, the force of the blows lessened. Finally, Dim knelt down, unable to get enough oxygen into his body. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed, gasping and wheezing. Sherlock was barely conscious himself but he loosened his grip and crawled a few steps away, leaning against the fence to stay in an upright position. He kept an eye on Dim, praying the hybrid wouldn't get up again, and after a few more seconds he heard a set of footsteps walking closer.

Moriarty surveyed the scene, walking past Sherlock towards the downed hybrid. He bent down and snapped his fingers a few times near Dim's ear, but it was barely acknowledged. A smile broke over his face as he turned with a flourish to where John and Sebastian were watching.

"Why gentlemen, I believe we have a WINNER! A round of applause for our resident sweetheart!"

Sebastian laughed and clapped, catcalling for effect. Then, before anyone could say more, Moriarty turned with his gun drawn towards the unconscious Dim and fired. The shot seemed amplified in the closed off room and Sherlock huddled closer to the fence at the noise. He didn't really know what was happening anymore, only that he was in pain.

John turned pleading eyes to Sebastian, "Let me check Sherlock, I won't try to escape, both you and Moriarty have guns on us. He needs medical attention, please!"

The two men exchanged a glance and Moriarty gave a little wave before Sebastian sighed and unlocked John's cage.

"Oh fine. Kitty won't be much good dead, I guess."

Ignoring him, John rushed into the ring towards Sherlock. He shrunk away when the doctor got close, curling into a ball.

"Sherlock...Sherlock it's John...can you hear me? I won't hurt you, please, Sherlock...let me have a look, OK? Sherlock...," the man tried to keep his voice as steady and soft as possible. He felt his throat closing up as tears threatened to spill. Now that he was closer, John could see all the injuries clearly and a pang of guilt crashed into him knowing that Sherlock had endured all of it for him.

"J...Jo...hn..."

The weak voice called out as Sherlock reached for him then promptly collapsed into his arms.

John held his precious companion, wanting to hug him tightly, but fearful of worsening the injuries. He made a quick calculation of the injuries, aside from the wounds on his chest, Sherlock's tail was torn and bleeding. His face was a mess from Dim's punches and most likely he suffered a concussion. He had bruises all over his back from getting slammed into the fence, and it felt like he had a broken rib, possibly two.

"Sherlock, love, can you hear me? Can you wake up. Please, wake up...," John cradled Sherlock's head, rubbing his ears and pressing gentle kisses to his hair. His beautiful Sherlock...

Two guards stepped forward and tried to pry the hybrid from John's arms.

"NO! You can't take him! Let me go!! He's going to die, he needs help!" The doctor struggled and kicked, doing all he can to keep them from taking Sherlock away.

Moriarty walked up with a shake of his head and brought the butt of his gun across John's face.

"Now, now. Relax doctor, we'll get kitty looked after."

Before he could do anything else, John felt something being jabbed into his neck and seconds later his world went black.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 23 END** _

I am so sorry for the delay!  Of course I suddenly get a busy week at work right when the fic hits such a cliff-hanging point.

I also suck at describing fights, or any sort of action OTL  So I hope it wasn't too confusing.  At least Sherlock won though!  Or kitty and his doctor are OK for another day ;_;

Thanks to everyone for all your lovely comments and for sticking with me for so long!!  Love you all!!!


	24. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, John and Sherlock are saved from their captivity by Scotland Yard.
> 
> WARNING!! Descriptions of severe physical injuries, including implications of rape. Read at your own discretion!

 

John didn't know how long he had been out, but by the time he awoke he was back in the little room he and Sherlock had been kept captive in before. He was chained to the wall once more, hands cuffed behind him, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Outside the windows it was dark, so at least the doctor knew it was night time, although he couldn't tell if it was early evening, late into the night or closer to morning. His head was groggy, probably from whatever they had injected him with, but more than anything he just wanted to know where Sherlock was. Did he receive the medical help he needed? Was he OK? Or maybe...

Feeling panic rising, John hurriedly stamped down his fear that perhaps the injured hybrid was not even alive anymore.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened and someone flipped a light switch, bathing the room in a low, yellow-ish glow. Sebastian walked in and John's eyes widened when his vision focused enough to realize that the man carried Sherlock in his arms. The battered hybrid was a mess, and now totally unclothed. He was clearly unconscious and only let out a whimper as the man tossed him to the floor. His wrists were bound behind him with heavy rope, but even if they hadn't Sherlock wasn't in any condition to fight back. The brunet had bruises all over him from the fight already, but to John's horror, there were new sets on his hips and over his lower back. In addition, small, round burn marks added to the blemishes on his arms, and his upper back was a mess of lash marks, sharp and straight. The blood between his thighs, still fresh, were clear indications of the kind of abuse he had just endured and with an enraged scream the doctor lunged forward, trying with all he had to reach the smirking Sebastian.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU UTTER TRASH! HOW COULD YOU?!"

John didn't even care what he screamed anymore, hurling as many insults as he could come up with. His wrists burned in the cuffs, digging into his skin and rubbing them raw, but it only spurred him on. He wanted to tear this man to shreds with his bare hands, wanted to feel his blood and watch it pool on the ground as he ripped his throat out.

"Oh do stop with the flattery, Dr. Watson. Relax, I can assure you the little bitch is more than used to it. He was begging for more actually, would you like to see the video?"

A soft mewling whine caught both their attention and drew their gazes down. Sherlock had awoken, although barely, and he peered up at Sebastian, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

"P...pl...ease....no..."

The plea was so soft it was more an exhale of breath, but like a blade it stabbed into John's chest.

Sebastian took a step forward and crouched down next to the shivering hybrid, reaching his hand out and stroking his face. Sherlock closed his eyes but didn't move away.

Suddenly, a deafening noise echoed from outside the door and both the captor and John looked over. Shouts followed and there were sounds of a fight. Sebastian jumped up, drawing his gun and racing out the door, slamming it shut behind him. For a few seconds everything was quiet and John turned his attention back to the broken brunet.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, can you hear me? Are you...," he swallowed the question, knowing it was stupid. Of course Sherlock wasn't OK, he was practically at death's door and John was incapable of doing anything to help.

The man got as close as the chain would allow, eyes roaming over the prone body, automatically documenting the injuries.

Cigarette burns on his arms, lashes from what looked like a whip, plus the bruises and broken ribs from the fight, and now the bruises and further injuries from being sexually assaulted. There was a red imprint around the pal neck as well, likely from the collar that had now disappeared.

"J..ohn...s-sorry...," the apologetic smile Sherlock tried to attempt only made John's insides twist more, "m..my fault...this.."

The doctor shook his head quickly, "No, don't be ridiculous, Sherlock, none of this is your fault. Just hang on, OK? We'll get out of here soon, I'll find a way to get us out. And...and we'll go back to Baker Street, and have lots of sweets. We'll get you that microscope so you can do experiments, too, yeah?"

Tears blurred despairing eyes as John tried to keep his voice light and hopeful. Sherlock only smiled and curled up a little tighter, tiredly flicking his tail although it didn't quite reach John.

A loud shot rang out from outside the room, followed by the shattering of one of the windows. The glass shards rained down as someone tried to peer in.

"John?! Sherlock! Are you in there?!"

For a second the blond haired man was almost certain he had imagined the voice, but then he saw the face of DI Lestrade at the opening, eyes frantically searching.

"WE'RE IN HERE! INSPECTOR!"

"Hold on! We're coming to get you guys out!"

Footsteps pounded outside the door and, after some pounding, the barrier crashed in. Several men in bulletproof vests stormed the small room, quickly surrounding John and Sherlock, working to free them from their restraints.

"Sherlock! He needs help! Let me through!"

As soon as his hands were freed, John pushed at the officers trying to guide him out of the room. Vaguely he saw red over his own wrists, the cuffs having cut into his flesh, but none of his aches and pains seemed worth mentioning when he looked at Sherlock. Kneeling down, John placed his hand over Sherlock's as gently as possible. He wanted to hug the broken body tightly and never let go, but he knew Sherlock needed help immediately.

Paramedics hustled in and laid a stretcher down, carefully shuffling Sherlock onto it as he mewled weakly. His tail draped over John's arm, too exhausted to do more than lay there. They tried to keep the doctor back in order to get Sherlock out, but John stubbornly stayed next to the stretcher, his legs stumbling a bit from the lack of use.

As they were taken out of the basement and brought above ground, the cool night air breezed over them. Outside the warehouse, police cars and ambulances surrounded the building, uniformed officers and medics rushing about. Lestrade immediately came to check on them, eyes worried and relieved. He took a look at John, then gazed at Sherlock, freezing in his tracks at the extent of the injuries. Someone hurried over and placed a soft blanket over the shivering hybrid since he was still naked as others followed with an oxygen mask and IVs, preparing him for transportation in the ambulance.

"Oh...god, John...I'm so sorry...is he..?" Lestrade's words jumbled together as he tried to ask several questions at once, guilt flooding his gaze.

"I don't know...he needs to go to the hospital, now," John's words were heavy as he gently petted the droopy tail still over his arm, taking care not to touch where it had been injured, "I'm going with him."

The DI nodded, "Yeah, go, and get yourself checked out too. We'll take care of things here. We caught most of the bastards, but it looks like their mastermind got away. No worries, we'll find him and get him behind bars."

John sweeped his eyes over the people hustling about and he saw several burly men in cuffs being led to patrol cars and driven away. In one of the cars, he caught a glimpse of Sebastian and noted with some satisfaction that the man seemed to be sporting a bloody nose. It hardly made up for everything he had done, but it was something.

With a nod at Lestrade, John followed Sherlock's stretcher into an ambulance, a sense of deja vu hitting him. He wished he could switch places with the brunet, take away the pain. He just wanted the brilliant hybrid to be OK, but unlike last time, the paramedics could offer no such comfort. Sherlock's heartbeat was weak and slow, his breaths shallow. He had lost a lot of blood and was suffering from multiple internal injuries on top of his external ones. And those were just the physical, no one knew exactly what the psychological toll of what had happened will be if Sherlock survives his injuries.

John slumped by the stretcher, wanting to keep vigil, but he too was so utterly exhausted. He laid his head down near Sherlock's, gently brushing back some of the flattened curls from his forehead.

"Please...please be OK, Sherlock."

 

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 24 END** _

Apologies for the shortness and the delay, but I know many of you were waiting for the rescue and I didn't want to make you wait longer.

Our poor kitty ;_;


	25. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade pays a visit to the hospital and fills John in on what had happened while they were kidnapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a quick timeline for anyone interested in the sequence of events. Personally I like to keep track of what happened when, so if that helps you, here you go;
> 
> Ch. 21 - night 1 (John and Sherlock captured)  
> Ch. 22 - daytime 1   
> Ch. 23 - night 2 (Sherlock vs. Dim)  
> Ch. -- - daytime 2  
> Ch. 24 - night 3 (Rescue)  
> Ch. -- - daytime 3 (John and Sherlock in hospital)  
> Ch. 25 - night 4

 

The hospital lights were too bright, the bustling noises too loud, and there were too many people trying to take Sherlock away. The logical part of John's brain knew that the doctors and nurses needed to do check ups, run tests, stitch up injuries and give him medication, but the instinct part fought off every attempt by anyone to take the unconscious brunet away.

Finally, it was only under threat of sedation, that John stepped back. He sat nervously on a check up table as a nurse went over his injuries. Bruises mostly, and the cuts on his wrists from the handcuffs. He was also dehydrated and starved since no food or drinks had been given to him since their kidnapping. The nurse brought him some water and a light meal, but assured him that the worst he will feel are some aches and pains as his body heeled, but there was no threat to his life. After taking some painkillers, he was taken to a private room with two beds for some rest. Initially the blond haired doctor protested, demanding to know where Sherlock was and wanting to see him, but the strain of fear and stress on his body from his time in captivity caught up and he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

John didn't know how long he slept but when he awoke, it was still dark outside the window in the room. He felt much better after sleeping, but also confused and unsettled. Turning his head, the doctor found the bed beside his now occupied and the steady beep of a heart monitor was the only sound in the room.

"Sher...lock...," the dryness of his voice made John cough but he struggled to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

"Not a good idea, mate. Docs say you should stay put."

The soft voice startled him and John quickly turned, finding Lestrade sitting in one of the chairs. In the soft glow of the room's lighting, he could see bags under the DI's eyes, stubble on his chin, a cup of coffee in his hand in an attempt to stay awake.

"His chart...Sherlock's medical diagnosis," John tried clearing his throat, gesturing to the papers attached to the foot of his partner's bed.

Lestrade got up and went to a small, bedside table, pouring a glass of water and handing it to John. Then, he took the papers and brought them to the doctor, eyes lingering over the still figure on the bed.

The liquid was cool in John's mouth and it felt wonderful going down his throat, coating the sore tissues and re-hydrating them. He gulped down a few mouthfuls, flipping open the report to see the full extent of Sherlock's injuries.

Second degree burns on his arms, dislocated shoulder, broken and fractured ribs, cuts and bruises basically everywhere, torn tail muscles, whip lashes on his back, and severe anal tearing from sexual assault. But at least, for now, his condition had stabilized.

The tears swelled up and John pressed his palms over his eyes before they could fall. He stepped down from the bed and swayed as Lestrade hurried over and propped him up. The two hobbled over to the other bed, sullenly looking at the occupant. Sherlock's face looked blissfully peaceful in his unconsciousness. His blanket was brought up to his chest, but the bandages that were wrapped around his torso and arms peeked through the top. His face was swollen and the marks on his neck looked more prominent as the red from before had turned into the beginnings of black and blue bruises.

"John...I am so sorry this happened. We should have gotten in there sooner, we...I shouldn't have gotten you two involved in this at all," the inspector's voice was filled with regret and guilt as he apologized.

"No, this wasn't your fault, Greg. Sherlock wanted to help, I agreed. We both knew the risks. I just...fuck. He...he got so injured because of me, they made him fight and if he lost they would have killed me," John squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the battle. Sherlock's growls and screams as he was left bleeding and ripped, and yet he had fought so bravely all because of John, "And then...and then Sebastian...the bastard...dammit. I was supposed to protect him, Greg. I promised he would be safe, I was supposed to...but...I couldn't..."

Hot tears poured out and dripped onto the bed sheet. Never had John felt so much guilt settle on his shoulders. Yes, he had suffered survivor's guilt following his time in Afghanistan, but the men around him signed up for the same job as he did, knowing that going into war zones held the risk of never returning. But Sherlock...Sherlock was different. Sherlock wasn't a soldier, just a bright, intelligent hybrid born into a world that placed him in a position to suffer. John had tried to help, tried to ease his pains and heal his wounds, and for a while he had glimpsed behind the shields Sherlock had built around himself to simply survive. He had trusted John, opened himself up to the man, and now...now it had all come crumpling down. Why hadn't he refused that drink? Why hadn't he realized it was drugged sooner? Why hadn't he fought harder? Why hadn't he been able to protect Sherlock as he had promised?

Frustrated, John swiped his hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears. Crying won't do any good now. He needs to focus, and just give Sherlock everything he needs to recover. Squaring his shoulders, the doctor turned to Lestrade.

"What exactly happened after we got captured? How did you find us? And where is that piece of human rubbish Sebastian now?"

The DI helped him back to his own bed, adjusting it so he can sit up. With a heavy sigh, the man ran a hand through his greying hair and pulled up a chair beside the bed.

"By the time we got to the fight club that night both you and Sherlock were already gone. Some of the people there knew this Sebastian, but no one knew where he went or could give us any clues. We found tire tracks of the car they used but it led to a dead end. We tried GPS on Sherlock's collar and your phones, but they had used something to jam our signals.

For over a day we couldn't find any trace of you two or of Sebastian, but then someone dropped off a video from a CCTV camera. It showed this man, we didn't know who he was, but he was taking a hybrid into an abandoned building. At first we didn't know why this video was sent to us or what it meant, but there was a zoomed in photo of one frame and we realized the man was holding Sherlock's tail cuff in his hand. The building actually had all these tunnels beneath it that no one knew about, and those led to that warehouse basement where you two were being held.

When we got there, the man in the video was actually just coming out. We later found out from Sebastian his name was Moriarty, we're still looking for him since the rat bastard got away. But we caught a few of his guys and of course Sebastian too. He's over at the Yard right now being interrogated."

John listened silently, thinking over the events.

"So...we were held for two days?"

It seemed impossible that everything that had happened could take place in such a short period of time. The fight alone felt like hours.

"Approximately fourty-eight hours, yeah. We still have no clue who sent us that video either. You know anything?"

John felt he had a good idea who was behind that, but he shook his head and shrugged.

"Haven't the slightest."

They both sat in silence for a bit longer before Lestrade sighed and stood up.

"Well, I'll let you get some rest then, mate. You take care, I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're holding up. And hopefully Sherlock will be awake by then."

John nodded and tried to give the DI a smile as the man left. Left alone, John's eyes wandered back to the other bed, noting the soft rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. Slowly, he got out from under his covers once more, going to stand at the other's bedside. John leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the mop of curls, gently petting the soft ears, the familiar motion bringing back memories from their months spent together.

He settled himself down in a chair beside the bed, resting his head on the soft mattress. The man placed a hand over Sherlock's, kissing the palm before closing his eyes for some sleep. He will make sure this precious life will be OK, whatever Sherlock needs, he will be here to give it to him, John promised silently.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 25 END** _

Another short chapter, just wrapping up loose ends for the case before we get to the healing <3

 


	26. The Aftermath 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up, but it's a slow and painful process to heal.

 

"Well, Dr. Watson. It looks like you'll be OK within a few weeks. Just take it easy until then."

The physician doing the check up gave John an encouraging smile as the doctor pulled his shirt on. It had been three days now since he and Sherlock were rescued from their ordeal and although John was fully capable of leaving the hospital now, the staff allowed him to stay to look after Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson had brought him some clothes to change into earlier, along with some books to keep him occupied. She had worried terribly over Sherlock and John had quickly hurried her out to calm her down.

The doctors had kept Sherlock sedated for the past few days, not wanting him to wake up until some of his worst injuries healed a bit more. Every day, John sat beside the bed, just watching, rubbing his finger over the pale hands, stroking the brown locks, petting the furry ears, trying to talk to him even though Sherlock couldn't hear. The swelling around his face had gone down, and John longed to see those blue eyes opening again. He wanted to hear the soft, smooth voice calling his name, feel the soft ears brushing his face as Sherlock snuggles up against him, watch as the graceful fingers fly over the keyboard, seeking out new information to satisfy his unending curiosity.

As the physician and nurse left, John re-took his place in the chair. He sighed and folded his arms on the bed beside Sherlock's body, resting his head on them.

"Sherlock...Sherlock I miss you..."

To his surprise, a soft hand settled over his own. John's head snapped up as he look over with wide eyes, finding hazy blue orbs meeting his. For a few seconds neither of them made a sound, and then the doctor leaped up, moving closer to the head over the bed, smiling in relief and joy but also worry and concern.

"Sherlock! Oh thank god, Sherlock, how do you feel? Let me get the doctor. Do you want some water? Does anything hurt?"

The slim hand squeezed his and Sherlock simply shook his head, blinking his eyes as if to clear them. He tried shifting a bit and mewled at the pain of trying to move. John laid a calming hand on his shoulder, keeping him still.

"We're in a hospital, love. You're safe now."

Getting a glass of water, the doctor added a straw and held it to Sherlock's mouth.

"You should drink something, your body needs the fluids."

Obediently, Sherlock opened his mouth and took a few sips. The simple task seemed to exhaust the hybrid and he gulped in a few gasping breaths, trying to stay awake. The sedatives were still circulating his system and it was difficult to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to say something, anything, because John looked so incredibly worried. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His ears flicked in annoyance at himself and he tried again.

John leaned down, understanding that Sherlock was trying to communicate something, gently brushing his fingers over the hollowed cheeks.

"J...o...hn...," his voice breaks off in a cough before he can say anymore.

The doctor hurriedly tried to sooth him, kissing softly over his forehead and temples.

"Hey, hey, it's OK. Shh...take it easy, love. I'm not going anywhere."

Slender fingers held onto John's hand weakly and Sherlock frowned as he felt the bandages wrapped around the wrist. Slowly, he brought their joined hands up so he can see.

"It's nothing serious, just from the handcuffs," John assured the curly haired hybrid as he bent his head down and kisses the fingers holding his hand.

"Se..ba..s..?" Sherlock seemed to shrink into the bed just attempting to say the name.

"He's gone, he's in custody. Scotland Yard has him, don't worry."

A soft sigh of relief fell from Sherlock's lips at John's reassurance. His ex-owner was gone, finally. The soft touch of John's mouth on his ear made Sherlock mewl and he tried to sit up to hug the doctor. That brought a wave of pain as suddenly, all his injuries flared from being stretched or moved. Through it all, however, Sherlock's mind zeroed in on the throb between his legs. It wasn't a pain he was unfamiliar with, but this time, it brought along with it a torrent of tears. Sebastian had touched him there, had used him when he was suppose to belong solely to John. He hadn't fought hard enough, he failed and allowed someone else to take him. Despairing blue eyes squeezed shut as the tears fell, dripping onto the pillow. How can he face John after that?

The older man watched in alarm as Sherlock broke down right in front of him. His breath hiccuped as he choked on a sob. It hurt to cry even, but Sherlock couldn't stop. It felt like a gate had opened and the hot tears simply poured out.

John leaned down, cradling Sherlock's head against his shoulder as his hand gently petted the soft hair. He wasn't sure why the brunet had suddenly started weeping, but Sherlock definitely had more than enough reasons to, so he simply let him cry.

"It's OK...it's OK...let it out, my beautiful Sherlock...I'm so sorry...," the soft, comforting words tumbled forth nonstop until John felt Sherlock stop trembling.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

The next few days, John barely left the small hospital room. Sherlock floated in and out of consciousness, relying on morphine whenever the pain became too unbearable. His injuries began to heal but it was a slow progress. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade stopped by almost every day to check on his progress, and once, even Sarah showed up to John's surprise. She didn't know what had happened, only that John had been given leave due to some official police business, but she had heard he ended up in the hospital. The woman had been horrified when he saw the extent of Sherlock's injuries, but John simply told her it had been a case gone wrong, claiming confidentiality to spare her the details.

About a week later, Sherlock was able to move around slowly with John's help. He had some difficulty breathing due to the broken ribs, so they were careful not to do anything too strenuous. Mostly they took short walks up and down the hallway, just to give him a chance to exercise his muscles, and also for a change of scenery.

On the surface, it seemed all was going well. Sherlock was getting better, and as his wounds healed, the memories of the ordeal began to fade. The crippling fear around the two of them started to dissipate and the atmosphere lightened. Sometimes they joked about nonsensical things and soft laughter from their room wasn't so uncommon as when they were first admitted.

There was, however, one landmine that still caused a heavy tenseness to settle whenever the small talk ceased. John didn't want to push Sherlock into talking about it, but it worried him that Sherlock never once brought up what Sebastian had done to him. John hadn't been there to see, and a small, selfish part of him was glad he had been spared from watching. Whenever the doctors came in for Sherlock's check up, he would latch onto John's hand so tightly he cut off blood circulation whenever anyone got close to the injuries down there. His ears would droop and his eyes would look distant as the doctors informed him of how well he was healing, and afterwards for an hour or two he wouldn't make any eye contact with John.

It was almost two weeks later when the wall finally broke.

John had stepped out for a few minutes to go to the cafeteria and get them some snacks to eat. He came back with apples, yogurt, and some biscuits for Sherlock, and a coffee for himself, but when he opened the door the bed was empty. Setting down the food on the bed side table, he looked around and found the bathroom door slightly ajar. Through the small opening, John caught a glimpse of his companion, standing in front of the full length mirror without any clothes on. Curious, but slightly afraid of intruding when he wasn't wanted, John knocked on the door gently before poking his head in.

"Sherlock? Everything all right?"

The startled hybrid turned and hastily grabbed his hospital gown that had been tossed on the counter, trying to cover himself with it.

"Uhm, yes, yes, everything's fine. I'll be right out."

John was about to retreat when he noticed a look of guilt and shame flashing over the expressive eyes. It unsettled him, and Sherlock looked incredibly vulnerable as he clutched at the hospital gown. He pushed the door open and stepped closer, approaching the other as one would approach a frightened animal on the verge of bolting.

Sherlock averted his eyes, staring at the floor and backing away until he was pressed against the wall. John reached out, but stopped short of touching him, knowing that it might be unwelcome at the moment. But almost as if pulled in by magic, Sherlock leaned forward until he could nuzzle his cheek to the offered hand.

"Sherlock, you know I care about you more than anything else, right? If you want to talk, about anything, I'm here."

The pale fingers tightened their grip on the flimsy material of his hospital gown, ears and head dropping. Looking at himself in the mirror today, Sherlock had seen for the first time the extent of his own injuries. Although some bruises had faded and the swelling had gone down, he couldn't keep his eyes off of the finger marks on his hips. They looked ugly, a painful reminder of his betrayal to John, and yet the man hadn't said anything about it this whole time. The deepest part of Sherlock taunted that the doctor was probably just waiting until he healed to sell him off, after all, a battered and bruised hybrid would be worth very little, and as much as Sherlock tried to deny it, he couldn't help fearing it. It had been his idea to take on the case, John had been against it, but Sherlock had wheedled him into it. Now not only had John gotten injured, but another man had spilled his seeds in Sherlock's body. Why would anyone put up with such a troublesome hybrid when he could just live a normal, safe life?

In a flash of desperation, Sherlock fell to his hands and knees. Maybe, maybe if he pleaded enough, John will take pity on him?

"I'm sorry, John...I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry. Don't sell me, I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want, please, don't sell me."

The sudden change in Sherlock took John completely by surprise. His whole chest hurt hearing the pleas pour forth and he quickly knelt down. Sherlock kept rambling apologies and begging not to be sold, and John had no idea where he had gotten the idea that the doctor would ever do such a thing.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, look at me, why would I ever want to sell you? You're so precious to me," gentle fingers stroked through the silky curls, trailing over the bent neck and down the scarred back. John took care not to touch any wounds, but he wanted to comfort the pleading hybrid.

Sherlock took a stumbling step forward and rested his face against John's shoulder, crying and collapsing against him.

"B..but he touched me, I let him touch me, and...it was all my fault...you got hurt, you could have been killed and it was all my fault!" The soft wail of hopelessness rang through the room as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He nuzzled against the soft ears, kissing and feeling his heart tear at how much guilt had been plaguing the brunet's mind.

"No, love, no. It wasn't your fault, none of it was your fault. You didn't _let_ him touch you, he violated you, he forced you. That wasn't your fault. You just wanted to help, wanted to stop the killings, that was brave, you were so brave, Sherlock, my Sherlock. My amazing, brilliant, beautiful Sherlock."

John said everything he could think of to put Sherlock's mind at ease. He whispered comforts, praises, confirmations of how much he cared, no matter how cliched they sounded. He needed Sherlock to know that no blame fell on his shoulders and John didn't feel any less about him than before.

The tears soaked through the collar of the doctor's shirt and his legs started hurting from their awkward position, but John didn't move. He held Sherlock as tightly as he dared, rocking gently like one would with a distraught child. Sherlock had never broken down like this before, even remembering past abuses, he always shrugged them off as if he didn't care. This time, he poured forth all the hurt and fear he had felt, trusting himself in John's arms.

Gradually, the sorrowful hybrid ran out of tears, feeling worn-out but better than before. He grasped John's shirt tightly, however, unwilling to let go. The doctor shuffled a bit to lean against a wall, finding a more comfortable position. He pulled Sherlock against himself, wrapping the hospital gown around the pale frame to give him some sort of cover.

Sherlock just whimpered and dug his face against John's neck at the move. It felt like he was trying to curl himself up into as small a ball as he could manage, even his tail was tucked in. If the older man's petting stopped, he would butt his head up a bit against John's hand until it restarted again.

It wasn't until Sherlock started dozing off that John gently nudged him up.

"Love, we should get you back to bed. You'll catch a cold in here."

Sherlock only mewled in protest, not wanting to move from his comfortable position.

"Come on, I've got biscuits for you."

That caused the ears to perk up with interest as blurry eyes peeked up from under the mop of curls.

"Biscuits?"

John chuckled and nodded, knowing that Sherlock hadn't had a chance to eat any sweets since the doctors only allowed him hospital prescribed foods to aid in his recovery.

"Yes, biscuits. So come on," the doctor got up, helping Sherlock to his feet too. They got the hospital gown on him and the eager hybrid splashed some water on his face to wash away the tears before following John out.

Sherlock climbed up on the bed with some help, lying down carefully. The short haired man grabbed the sweets and was about to sit down in his chair when he saw hopeful blue eyes peering at him, wide and asking wordlessly. The bed was narrow, meant for just one person, but Sherlock had shuffled himself to one side, clearly making room for his owner. With a fond smile, John kicked off his shoes and settled down on the mattress. Sherlock crawled over him like a clingy octopus, his limbs wrapping around John who didn't mind at all. The weight and warmth of the other body over his own was reassuring, a reminder that he had come so close to losing all of this, and yet they had pulled through.

As he held a biscuit to Sherlock's lips and watched him nibble on the treat happily, John felt a blissful calm settle over him for the first time in ages. Sherlock's tail was back around his wrist, the touch familiar to both of them. John mouthed over the soft ears as they flicked against him, for the first time since all of this started feeling some hope that things will go back to normalcy with time.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 26 END** _

A side of fluff to go with your angst?  

I will confess that a) I have no experience with healing injuries (never even broken a bone before) and b) I have no experience dealing with sexual assault or sexual assault victims. If anything you read about Sherlock's recovery process is entirely improbable, please feel free to point it out and, if I can, I will try to fix it in the story.  

Please do keep in mind, however, that Sherlock here is not a stranger to rape as he had suffered it at Sebastian's hands before, on a regular basis no less.  So if he doesn't seem that traumatized by it then that would be why.  He's much more concerned about disappointing John than the fact that he himself was abused *cries*

 


	27. The Hospital Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a visitor in the hospital who brings some news for John.

  
"John, I'm bored," a soft voice complained from the pile of blankets.

The doctor looked up from the book he was reading, smiling sympathetically.

"Lestrade will be here soon, be patient."

Dark brown ears twitched as a head peered up.

"You're sure he said he'll bring the case files?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure, he promised he would."

It had taken some convincing, but the DI had agreed to pass along some cold case files to them while Sherlock's in the hospital just to keep him occupied. Initially the DI had been most reluctant to let them anywhere near more cases, but Sherlock took to blocking the door and emitting the most pitiful whines until he finally relented.

Sherlock was bored, it had been several weeks now and the doctors were almost ready to discharge him, but until then, he had nothing to do. He had read through all of John's books already, and explored most of the hospital too. His mind was in a frenzy for something to keep it busy and since laptops were not permitted, he had turned to Lestrade for a source of distraction.

A loud knock came at the door but before either occupant could say anything it swung open.

"Lestrade, we were just...oh," the words died on John's lips as he turned to face the visitor.

"Dr. Watson. Sherlock. Troublesome as ever I see."

The lanky hybrid on the bed hissed, ears immediately pressing against his head. With an inward sigh of exasperation, John stood up and discreetly inserted himself between the bed and the door.

"Mycroft. What an unexpected surprise."

"Indeed."

The man stepped in, brolly clicking on the floor as he dropped a box of doughnuts into John's hands.

"Doughnuts? Really? You came with...doughnuts?"

A disdainful eyebrow arched as he looked down his nose at the doctor. Sherlock crawled over on the bed, all growls and bristly tailed.

"Is passing CCTV footage to Scotland Yard anonymously a hobby of yours?" He sneered, having heard the whole story from John.

"Considering I got you out, a small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

Sherlock just glared, then turned, nose in the air and plopped down on the bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to John, ignoring his brother for the moment.

"I came to ask about the man who got away. Moriarty. What do you know about him?"

The shorter man frowned as he set the box of doughnuts down.

"Nothing, except he was colluding with Sebastian in the fight clubs and buying the hybrids to be used as targets in some hunting game."

"He wasn't colluding, Moriarty was the mastermind. Sherlock, you and the good doctor here have stepped on an underground landmine, I'm afraid."

That caught the sulking hybrid's attention as he threw the covers down and sat up. His eyes were still irritated, but now they held a trace of curiosity.

"What do you mean?"

Mycroft seemed to think for a moment, glancing between Sherlock and John. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulled out a file and handed it to John. The man opened it and set it down on the bed so both he and Sherlock could read the documents inside.

"Jim Moriarty is no simple murderer. He has affiliations to just about every major criminal and terrorist organization in the country, possibly even abroad. One of the most cunning criminals we know with little desire except to cause chaos and misery."

The pages detailed crime after crime, and the more John read, the harder he frowned.

"So why hasn't he been arrested already? I mean, all of these are crimes he's involved in, yeah?"

"He rarely gets his own hands dirty, preferring to conduct his affairs from afar. The fact that he showed himself to you two would indicate that he had no inclination to let you leave alive..."

"You're...you think he'll come after us? To get rid of us then?" John felt a ripple of fear spiral down his spine.

"Possible. Therefore, Sherlock, try to stay away from the criminal crowd, at least until this dies down somewhat."

The younger Holmes ignored the advice, instead reading through the pages in the file. There seemed to be a gleam of wonder in his blue eyes that John only saw when he took great interest in something.

"Sherlock," the older Holmes warned as he took a step forward towards the bed.

An annoyed flick of his tail almost smacked Mycroft over the face as Sherlock rolled his eyes before regarding his brother, expression carefully schooled to one of boredom.

"Is that all you came for? Great. Then good-bye."

The two shared a short staring contest as John silently watched. Then, with a huff, Sherlock shuffled himself back under the covers indicating he was no longer interested in his brother.

Mycroft's eyes passed to John and he gave a short indication of his head to the door. The doctor gathered up the file still on the bed, following the man out of the room. He carefully closed the door behind them before handing the papers back to Mycroft.

"John, Moriarty is dangerous, more than anyone you know or will likely know. Keep Sherlock away from him."

The doctor nodded, knowing he had no desire to have anything else to do with that man. The dead look of boredom as he had shot Dim was burned into his mind, and that look chilled John's blood. Someone who was used to killing, someone who didn't care about killing, who took more joy in seeing others in pain than in ending their lives, that was what John read in Moriarty.

"Also...John," Mycroft hesitated, the first time the shorter man had ever seen him show any sign of uncertainty, "There's a video...Wilkes took a video of what he did to Sherlock. You will be summoned to court to testify against Wilkes, and I'm afraid at that time you will have to bear witness to the video, John."

Cobalt eyes widened in shock and horror as John's mouth dropped. He had expected to testify, of course, but he had forgotten all about the video that Sebastian had mentioned. His throat tightened just imagining having to watch, he didn't want to, how could he sit there and watch Sherlock being raped?

"I...no...I can't. Mycroft, I can't."

"Dr. Watson as a doctor, they'll ask you to verify that the injuries on Sherlock was indeed due to being sexually assaulted. In order to link that to Wilkes you will have to watch the video and confirm that the injuries you saw on Sherlock immediately after the assault correspond with the injuries Wilkes inflicted on him. You were the only one present following the assault, you have to make that link, and as Sherlock's owner, only you can press charges that Wilkes forcefully violated your hybrid. Otherwise, it is not illegal to take a hybrid by force. You know that."

John glanced to the door, knowing that Sherlock was waiting inside. In order to put Sebastian away, he had to. For Sherlock, he had to do this, it was the least he could do. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

"Just get him convicted, John. I'll handle the rest."

The grim words caught the doctor by surprise and he blinked at the elder Holmes. The man's eyes were narrowed, looking past John and glaring at the wall. His grip on his brolly was iron clad, turning his fingers white. For the first time, John saw the protectiveness of an older brother reveal itself and he had a feeling Mycroft wasn't as uncaring as Sherlock had come to assume.

"You've...seen the video?" John ventured to ask.

Mycroft seemed to shake himself out of whatever was going through his mind and brought his gaze back to John.

"Yes, I've seen it. Parts of it. I...I am sorry I couldn't have stopped it."

"What will happen to Sebastian when he's convicted?"

Calculating eyes peered back at John, a silent promise held within them.

"He'll never see the light of day again."

"I want to see him. After the trial, Mycroft. I want to see the bastard."

Eyebrows raised and a sliver of amusement filtered into Mycroft's eyes. He looked John over from head to toe, then turned and started walking away.

"I'll see what I can do."

When John returned to the room, Sherlock was munching on a doughnut. He had bits of sugar around his mouth and it was such an adorable image that John chuckled, stepping closer to rub his ears.

Leaning down, the older man placed a soft kiss to the sugary lips, tasting the sweetness. Sherlock mewled and leaned closer, nuzzling against John.

"Sherlock...they're...I have to...," the doctor was at a loss for how to explain that he has to bear witness to Sherlock being put through hell.

"You have to watch the video Sebastian took of him raping me, yes?"

A part of John felt relieved Sherlock was so good at deducing things, it saved him from having to say a lot of things out loud.

"Yes...for the trial. I...I'm so sorry."

Dark brown curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head, leaning against John's chest as he finished his doughnut.

"Nonsense. You have nothing to apologize for, John. It's mere procedure. John...," soft eyes peered up from the fringe of curls, "John it really wasn't so bad. I realize for humans sexual assault is a serious crime, but I'm use to it, he had done worse before. Please, John...I don't like seeing that look in your eyes when you look at me now...you look like you're in pain."

John didn't even know what to say to that. How do you tell someone who had suffered years of abuse that that was not OK, especially when it was technically not even a crime under the law? It hurt John to hear Sherlock say those words, that he was "use to it", no one should become used to something so horrifying.

Protective arms wrapped around Sherlock and pulled him close. In a way he would have preferred if the brunet would cry and scream and yell about how awful it was, how devastating, how much pain it caused him. Instead, Sherlock seemed to take it all in stride, focusing only on his physical injuries. What made it worse was that Sherlock still seemed stricken with bouts of guilt and shame, believing he had let John down somehow. When they fell asleep, he sometimes thrashed about, screaming John's name, begging and pleading not to be sold, to be allowed to stay with the doctor. It tore at John's heart and he made sure to tell Sherlock every day how amazing he found the brunet, how much he treasured him, how precious he was.

Normally, John wasn't one for such open displays of affection. He walled off his emotions and did what he had to do, a skill he had learned from the army. But now wasn't the time to play tough, now wasn't the time to be stoic. Sherlock needed reassurances and John was determined to give it to him, whenever he needed it, however much he needed. Sherlock's eyes would light up when John showered him with praises, he'd purr happily when John opened his arms to let him jump in for a hug, and he'd snuggle close when John petted him and whispered in his ears how gorgeous the doctor found him.

"I'm sorry, love. I just...can't stop the memories of what happened. I couldn't do anything to help you, nothing."

"No, that's not true. You helped, John. During the fight, I kept going because of you, I didn't give up because you were there, John. You saved my life...in so many ways."

John squeezed his eyes shut at the words, burying his nose in the soft hair. Sherlock rubbed his nose against John's neck, sniffing out the doctor's comforting scent. He tilted his head up and softly pressed his lips against the man's pulse point, feeling the blood flowing with each beat of his heart. His owner, his John, only his, the one person who saw something special in him, who cared about him, who didn't care how much money he was worth or how well he could perform. His scars didn't turn the doctor away, his shortcomings weren't punished, his needs were cared for, his body loved, and his heart...John was so, so careful with his heart. The only pain Sherlock ever felt in his heart where John was concerned was when the man gave him too much, cared too much. His heart would squeeze so tightly he almost couldn't breathe.

Their eyes met and wordlessly their lips sought each other out. It was warm, loving, and both parties poured everything they felt into the simple touch. Tongues darted out, teasing and tasting, lapping at each other's mouth as their moans blended in the room.

John's hands held Sherlock like a precious gem, gently running down his back and sides, ever mindful of his injuries. Sherlock in turn clung to his owner, his fingers threading through the short strands of hair. He curled himself against John, his usually gangly body balled up as if trying to fit himself against John's chest. Unfortunately, the position pressed against his still-healing ribs and Sherlock broke from the kiss with a soft whimpering gasp, clutching his chest.

Gently, John helped him lay back down on the bed, spreading out his limbs to take the pressure off.

"Shh...take it easy, love. Give it time."

His hands continued stroking through the glossy brown locks as he peppered kisses all over Sherlock's face.

  
**~*~*~*~**

About half an hour later, Lestrade showed up. Sherlock had fallen asleep and John tiptoed out of bed to greet the DI. They sneaked out of the room to talk without fear of waking the slumbering hybrid.

"How's he doing?"

"Better, he's getting there."

"Good, good. Here are the cold case files."

"Ah, thanks. These should give him something to do."

"You know, most people would be turned off from doing anymore crime solving after what happened to him."

"Yeah, well, Sherlock's not exactly 'most people'."

"John...listen. I am so sorry about all of this. If there's anything I can do, just name it."

"These things always carry a risk, Greg, you couldn't do anything more than you did. Besides, you found us in time. Let's just make sure the bastards responsible go where they belong."

"Yes, speaking of which...does the name Mycroft Holmes mean anything to you?"

That caught John off guard and he blinked at the DI, doing his best to feign ignorance.

"I...don't believe I'm familiar with that name."

The look he received in return was clearly one of disbelief.

"John, look. The rest of the guys at the Yard think Sherlock's full name is Sherlock Watson, following your last name, but I know it's Sherlock Holmes. Holmes isn't exactly a common name. Are you sure there's no relation?"

The shorter man fidgeted, trying to think about how much he should reveal.

"How do you know Mycroft Holmes?"

"I heard his name being dropped when I overheard one of my superior's conversations. Apparently he had requested some information regarding the trial for this case. Suppose to be some big shot in the government or something."

John felt even more nervous. Revealing someone of Mycroft's stature as a hybrid could be devastating, and as Mycroft had said, it can lead to trouble for Sherlock as well. Just as John was going to try and lie his way through, Lestrade's phone rang with a message. The DI hurriedly checked and frowned.

"Oh blasted, sorry John, have to go. Lead on a case. I'll talk to you later!"

The man turned and half ran down the hall. John blinked a few times, then let out a soft sigh of relief, thanking his lucky stars for the break. The ding of his own phone startled the doctor and as he pulled the device from his pocket, John's eyes widened.

Message. Blocked number.

_'You're welcome. -M'_

He jerked his head up and glanced around, checking to see if anybody was watching him, or perhaps the cameras? But it was futile, he had no way of knowing exactly how Mycroft was getting his information. With a shake of his head, John walked back into the room, slightly unsettled by how much power the elder Holmes seemed to hold. Well, perhaps that can be convenient too, and from what he had seen today, Mycroft was indeed concerned about his younger brother. That placated some of the nerves in John as he carefully settled back down on the bed beside Sherlock, pulling the sleeping hybrid into his arms once more.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 27 END** _

Our kitty's almost back on his feet.  Just a bit more time <3  Slowly getting back into fluff territory :3


	28. The Pathologist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade introduces Sherlock and John to a young pathologist working at Bart's Hospital.

 

Sherlock mewled in protest as bubbly shampoo was massaged into his hair, some of it getting into his sensitive ears. He flicked them and sent a few stray bubbles flying outwards. He didn't like water, hot, cold, warm, clear or bubbled. Although he enjoyed the feeling of freshness after a bath, actually getting wet was something Sherlock distinctively disliked.

A soft sponge gently brushed down his back, dipping into the water and soaking some of it up before unloading its contents over his head, washing out the shampoo.

"Johnnn...," he whined, pouting at the man.

"Come on Sherlock, it's been a while since you had a proper bath," the doctor told him patiently, picking up a towel to wipe his ears so that they weren't so irritated at least.

The hospital had finally allowed Sherlock to go back home a few days ago and by now, his wounds had healed enough so that the water mostly didn't hurt him anymore. He still had to take it easy for his ribs, but overall he was mostly healed, at least physically. John had loaded up on pillows and cushions, shoving them onto the chairs, sofas and bed to make sure wherever Sherlock wanted to rest it would be nice and soft.

"John, I'm getting all wrinkly, look!" The sulking hybrid held up his fingers to show the doctor who just chuckled and shook his head.

"OK, OK, stand up then so I can rinse off the bubbles."

Glad to get this over with, Sherlock stood as instructed as John turned on the shower, making sure the spray wasn't too strong and the temperature was OK. He had to reach up to get Sherlock's hair, and the water dripped down his arms, soaking his shirt and the towel he was standing on. The doctor's caring fingers stroked through the wet and flattened curls, trailing down the marked back, taking care to clean the waterlogged tail too.

As soon as John turned off the water, Sherlock shook his head, causing water droplets to go flying in all directions.

"Hey! Sherlock!" The older man laughed as he was sprayed, bringing his arms up to shield his face, "Oh great, now I'm wet too!"

"Serves you right," a smug grin spread over full lips as blue eyes narrowed at the man.

"Oh fine, serves me right. Now come on, I'll make you a nice cuppa."

John carefully helped Sherlock out of the bathtub, making sure he didn't slip. A large, fluffy bathrobe was wrapped around the slim figure before the man grabbed a dry towel and led the tall hybrid out into the kitchen. Sitting down on a chair at the table, Sherlock purred as John set to toweling dry his hair, gently, rubbing down his ears too. Sherlock didn't like using the hair dryer since it was too uncomfortable for his ears, plus it was too loud, so John left the darkened locks to air dry. Sherlock folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, eyes following his owner as the man set about making tea. He placed a plate of biscuits on the table which Sherlock munched on as they waited for the kettle to boil.

"John?" The voice tilted up in a question.

"Hm?"

"Do you...do you think Sebastian will really be convicted?"

John leaned on the table, standing beside Sherlock.

"Yes, I do. Scotland Yard has more than enough evidence, and with my testimony I'm positive he will never get out of prison."

Sherlock went silent as he seemed to ponder this over, staring intently at the biscuits. When the kettle whistled, John poured out two cups of tea, the aroma filling the air. In one he added some milked and sugar since Sherlock preferred it sweet, blowing on it gently before setting it beside the quiet hybrid.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"Why...Mycroft's powerful, why can't he change the laws? Why can't he...make things better?"

The voice faded until the second question barely made it to John's ears. It was the first time he had heard Sherlock express a desire for the present circumstances in relation to hybrids to change, and the melancholy wondering made John feel a sudden sadness overcome him.

'Why' indeed.

Why was it permitted in the first place?

A cheeky voice inside the doctor answered that he must be incredibly dumb to not understand something so simple. Power. Humans craved power. Sherlock had said as much before. And since hybrids were created by humans, they felt they had the right to control their creations. Except, unlike things and products that people can hold intellectual property rights over, hybrids had feelings, thoughts, they were living creatures with a high level intelligence that were on par with humans, or perhaps even higher than humans if Sherlock was anything to go by.

Asking humans to give up such power would be extremely difficult, and regardless of how powerful Mycroft might be in the British government, John was sure it would cause a lot of problems. If Britain were to pass legislation altering the status quo on the treatment of hybrids, other countries would also weigh in with either approval or condemnation. At the same time, any such important law would no doubt garner a lot of controversy between those who are for and those who are against. Mycroft alone cannot make such decisions on his own. Public opinion will have to play a huge part in it, and considering most people seemed perfectly content with being allowed to do whatever they want with hybrids, the prospects for sweeping change to cascade through the country seemed unlikely.

"I'm sure he wants to, love. But...maybe he's scared. He's all alone, and at any moment if he lets his guard down he can be discovered. If that happens not only would he be put down, but most likely, so would you, Sherlock."

Pale hands shook as he held the tea cup, wrapping long, slender fingers around the delicate ceramic.

"If I ever have to go back to living like I did before...I...I think I'd rather be dead."

John bent down and kissed the still damp hair, the curls starting to take shape once more as the strands dried.

"You won't have to...you'll never have to go back to that, Sherlock. I promise. Even if something happens to me, I'll make sure you're taken care of. There's Mrs. Hudson, or maybe Lestrade, plus I'm pretty sure Mycroft won't let you end up in the hands of some sadistic bastard again."

Sherlock mewled, setting down the tea and wrapping his arms around John's waist to hug him close.

"No! No, no, no. John, nothing can happen to you. Nothing must ever happen to you. Never, never, never!" The desperate cries were accompanied by the arms tightening.

"Hey, hey, Sherlock, it's OK. I was just talking about an imaginary scenario, love. I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here," the man hurried to reassure his distraught hybrid, fingers petting his hair and ears.

Slowly, Sherlock calmed down and when John's phone rang, he pulled back, turning his attention to his tea once more.

"Inspector, what can we do for you?"

"Oh, John, hi. You and Sherlock at home now?"

"Yeah."

"Great. I have someone I want Sherlock to meet, can I bring her around?"

"Uh...a-a person?"

"Yeah, name's Molly Hooper. She works at Bart's Hospital, does autopsies for us sometimes. She has access to the labs there and I remembered you said Sherlock wanted some lab equipment for experiments? She said it might be OK for him to use their stuff some time so long as it's not for anything hazardous."

"Oh! Oh, well that's brilliant! Yeah, sure, bring her over. We'll be here all day, so anytime is fine."

"We'll be over in about an hour, then. Cheers."

Sherlock watched John through the whole conversation, picking up bits and pieces.

"Company?"

"Lestrade's coming over with someone who works at Bart's. Says she can get you into the labs there," John told him with a wide smile.

Sherlock's ears and tail flicked with interest, eyes already lighting up.

"Really?"

"Yeah, her name's Molly...uh...Hopper?" John guessed.

"Hooper, Molly Hooper," Sherlock corrected, having heard a bit of the DI's side of the conversation.

Sherlock and John hurriedly finished their tea, the doctor shooing the brunet into the bedroom to change into something more suitable for guests.

A few minutes past the hour, they heard the front door ring and John went down the stairs to let the DI and his companion in. Sherlock paced a bit nervously, wondering what this Molly person will be like.

"Here they are! Sherlock, this is Molly Hooper, Molly, Sherlock," John introduced as the three of them stepped through the doorway.

The young woman stepped out from behind Lestrade, peering around the flat. She had rich brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Her wide eyes were friendly and slightly timid, someone who's eager to please, Sherlock read from their gaze. Her mouth was pulled into a shy smile as her hands tugged at the strap of her bag. A large coat covered her, clearly hiding several layers of clothing to keep out the London chill. Her make up was neutral, no vivid colours or elaborate exaggerations. Clearly someone who didn't pay too much attention to fashion or her looks, although curious enough to play around with it from time to time.

Sherlock's eyes made a sweep over the woman observantly. Unattached, enjoys her work although not obsessed with it, not too sociable but has a close group of friends she prefers the company of, likes a drink on the weekend to let loose, but too timid otherwise to step out of her comfort zone.

"Hi, pleasure. I work as a pathologist at Bart's. I've heard a lot about you from Greg already, he says you're absolutely brilliant, unlike anyone he's ever met before," she reached out a hand to Sherlock, offering a warm smile.

The sharp nose twitched as he took in her scent. Tea, hot chocolate, along with the smell of disinfectant and medication from her workplace, all underlined with lavender probably from scented candles she used often. No heavy perfume that made Sherlock's nose itch.

Taking a step closer, he extended his hand and accepted a hand shake.

"The inspector...uh, Grem hasn't mentioned you before, but yes, pleasure," the deadpan tone caused John and the DI to cough as Molly laughed.

"Greg, Sherlock. Greg," the DI said, sounding exasperated.

"Oh...," confused blue eyes darted between the three humans, unsure what he had said that Molly found amusing.

"Molly, Greg, why don't you two have a seat? I'll make us some tea, any requests?" John stepped in, motioning towards the sofa and chairs.

Everyone sat down while John went into the kitchen to make their drinks. Molly and the inspector took the sofa while Sherlock awkwardly settled on a chair. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap, head down and only taking peeking glances at the two guests. His ears and tail were fully alert, only the tip of his tail making little jerky twitches every few seconds. Molly clearly held no threat, nor did the inspector, but still, having a stranger in the flat made him instinctively tense up.

"So Sherlock, Greg says you like science and...'stuff'?" Molly made little air quotes with her fingers as she rolled her eyes at Lestrade.

"Um...yeah, I...I think it's fascinating."

"Oh, me too! Is there any particular field you like?"

"F-forensics is...interesting. Chemistry...bio-chem..."

"Oh wow, is John into those too?"

The doctor came in with a tray of tea just as Molly asked the question. He laughed and set everything down on the coffee table, motioning for them to help themselves.

"I know some from my medical training, but nothing compared to Sherlock. I swear he can finish a university degree in a week he learns so fast."

A soft blush glowed on Sherlock's cheeks at the open praise. He sneaked a glance at his owner and saw him smiling proudly back.

"That wouldn't surprise me. The things he can pick up on, just amazing," Lestrade joined in, shaking his head as he chuckled.

Molly picked up her tea cup and took a small sip. She looked between the three of them with some curiosity, clearly intrigued.

"Well, anyway, Greg said you needed access to some lab equipment, Sherlock? Usually only employees are allowed in the labs, but I can get you a visitor's pass. Just, you know, no setting off explosions or anything. If you plan to deal with anything that can be potentially hazardous to human health I have to clear it with my bosses first."

Sherlock nodded, trying to swallow down his excitement. He didn't want to appear too eager for fear that that would embarrass John, but inside he was leaping for joy. Finally, he can try some of the experiments he read about on the internet!

"Right, of course."

Molly fidgeted a bit, glancing between the doctor and Sherlock before she finally pulled out some papers from her bag and placed them on the table.

"Um...John, since he's your hybrid, you'll have to sign a consent form that he has your permission to be in the labs. Also it says that if Sherlock sustains any injuries or is involved in any accidents from any experiments he performs, the hospital is not legally responsible."

Lestrade and John winced at the blatant reminder of Sherlock's label as John's property although the hybrid in question didn't seem at all affected. He just grabbed a pen from the desk behind him and held it out for his owner, eyes shining with a small smile on his face.

Their eyes met and the man could tell how much Sherlock was looking forward to this, so he took the pen and signed where Molly indicated.

"Great, I'll put these through tomorrow morning and by the afternoon they should have your visitor's pass made. Do you want me to send it here?" Molly shuffled the papers back into her bag, looking relieve.

"Sure, yeah, here would be fine."

"OK, let me know when you come the first time and I'll give you a tour of the place. Here, I'll give you my number."

A bright smile flashed on her face as Molly jotted down her contact information for them, adding on her email too.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Lestrade and Molly got up to go. Apparently the DI was taking her out for a 'dinner date or...something' as he put it, as thanks for some help Molly had given him on a previous case. The young woman rolled her eyes once more, mouth tilting up in an amused grin as they left, telling Sherlock she looked forward to see him at Bart's.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Sherlock laughed and twirled around in the living room, tail swishing about wildly. John hurried out of the way, watching with a wide smile on his face before he joined in the laughter. He hadn't heard that beautiful sound since the fight club case and oh, how he has missed it.

"Thank you, John! Thank you!"

Sherlock grabbed the man in a tight bear hug, rubbing his face all over John's hair, nuzzling and purring.

"I didn't do anything, Sherlock, just made some tea."

"But you gave the permission, and...and...well...just, thank you."

The happy hybrid mewled digging his nose against John as the doctor hugged him back tightly, pressing kisses over his cheeks.

"Well, let's also send a thanks to Lestrade and Molly, yeah? How about we get them something when we see them again?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly, "Biscuits! I can make them biscuits!"

"Oh, lucky them, getting to eat your yummy biscuits. I'll only agree if you make some for me too, then," John grinned teasingly.

Sherlock coiled his tail around John, keeping him close as he leaned down and planted a solid kiss to the doctor's mouth.

"Deal."

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 28 END** _

*Floats on the fluffs*

And we have MOLLYYYYYYYYYYY~!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	29. The Need to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John share an afternoon in the flat. Sherlock's not quite as recovered as he believes he is, and what happened affects more than just his body, as much as he refuses to believe it.

 

John watched in amusement from the kitchen doorway as Sherlock sat on the living room floor, legs crossed, back hunched over, elbows propped up on his thighs. He had dragged a blanket from the bedroom and spread it out on the floor, shoving their armchairs back to make room in front of the fireplace. In one corner he had stacked a pile of cushions and it almost looked like a little makeshift nest. Attentive aquamarine eyes were glued to the phone in his hands, fingers pressing at buttons on the screen. His triangular ears were pressed tightly to his head as his tail laid on the floor like a long length of rope, the tip thumping on the blanket every once in a while.

The doctor had just come back from a shopping trip and after putting away the groceries had found his hybrid in the current state. He had no idea what had occurred in the half an hour he was away and no clue what had caught Sherlock's undivided attention on his phone.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Hold on, John...almost got this...just a little higher...come on, come on...YES! GOT IT!"

The look of concentration dissolved into a joyous smile as Sherlock fell back onto the cushions, laughing and waving his phone around in the air.

Shaking his head, John stepped over and turned the screen so he can see.

"Angry Birds? You were playing Angry Birds?"

Sherlock peered up at him from the floor, tail lazily draping over John's arm.

"It's interesting! You have to get the bird to hit all the pigs using the slingshot."

The doctor sat down on next to the excited brunet, shaking his head as he chuckled. Sherlock Holmes, resident genius, intrigued by slingshotting birds into pigs. Absently, he reached a hand out and rubbed it over Sherlock's stomach in small circles, earning him some soft mewls.

"Right, and you built this cushion fort to...ward off pigs on the path for revenge?" he waved his hand towards the cushions and blanket.

Sherlock wiggled closer, shivering at the tummy rub he was getting.

"The...the bedroom doesn't get as much sunlight as here...," he mumbled softly.

It wasn't that Sherlock didn't like dark places, and in mid-afternoon the bedroom was hardly pitch black even with the curtains drawn. But if John wasn't around, he preferred somewhere brighter, and the sunlight was warm as it streamed through the windows. He had tried lounging on the bed but in the little corners of the room his sharp eyes kept seeing imagined movements making it impossible for him to relax. Here, in the living room, not only was it brighter, but the sound of the cars passing by outside kept his mind from wandering into imaginary realms.

Cautious eyes gazed back at John as Sherlock worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I'll put it all back later, I promise."

John grabbed a few of the cushions and patted them into some formation he can lean on. He set the phone down out of the way before lying down beside Sherlock, who gravitated toward him and snuggled into his chest.

"We can do it together, later. This feels pretty good, nice place for an afternoon nap," the man smiled, automatically wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

A soft, rumbling purr resounded through the slender body as he curled up, feeling John's warm body in front of him and the heat of the sunlight from behind. Things seemed so absolutely perfect, and both Sherlock and John lapsed into silence, enjoying the other's company.

 

  
 **~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

When Sherlock opened his eyes, it was dark out already. The warm sunlight from earlier had disappeared and from outside the window there trickled in the faded yellow light of the streetlamps. The room was mostly dark now, although his eyes adjusted quickly to make out the shapes of the furniture. Beside him, John was still slumbering, one arm draped over Sherlock, face turned in his direction.

They had slept past dinner time and if Sherlock had to estimate the time he would say it was close to eight or nine already. Unwilling to wake John, Sherlock moved slowly, head rising up just a bit until he can see just past the border of the blanket. He spotted the small rectangular shape of his phone and reached out to grab it, turning off the volume so as not to disturb John. He nuzzled into the doctor before starting up another game, eyes set to get his birds' eggs back from the nasty piggies.

He managed to pass several levels before John stirred. The man rubbed his eyes, yawning and trying to get his head around whereabouts he was.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Are you...playing that game again?"

He peeked over at the phone's screen just as Sherlock flung a bird out and watched it crash through some wooden blocks, hitting a TNT box causing an explosion.

Even in the darkness, Sherlock blushed and quickly saved the game.

"I...I wasn't playing! It was physics research. I was calculating the speed and angle needed for the bird to successfully detonate the TNT."

John laughed and rolled onto his back, stretching his limbs.

Sherlock mewled softly and crawled over top of the older man. His legs were planted on either side of John's hips, hands beside the man's head, successfully trapping his owner beneath him. Bending his head down, Sherlock brushed his mouth over John's, enjoying the soft exhale of warm breath that ghosted across his own lips. He pressed down a little more, the tip of his tongue slipping out to flick against John. The doctor opened his mouth, not pushing to deepen the kiss, but just letting Sherlock take his time and explore. Gently, the brunet took the invitation and slid his tongue inside, moaning softly when John rubbed their tongues together.

The doctor let his hands reach up, fingers brushing over Sherlock's sides. The lean body was dressed in a soft t-shirt and pajama bottoms, but John made no move to reach under the shirt or initiate anything more intimate than what Sherlock was doing. He let his hands trail over the fabric, feeling the rise and fall of muscles and tendons underneath.

"John?" The whisper was tense and filled with hesitation.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Can...can we...?" Sherlock swallowed, wishing the light was on so he can see John's expression better.

"Can we what, love? What do you need?" John pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth, letting his fingers stroke through the soft hair.

"Can we...have sex?"

This time, John cupped his hands around Sherlock's face, tilting it down so he can kiss him on the forehead.

"Love, you're still healing, I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock mewled, letting one of his hands trail down John's chest.

"I'm healed, John. I am. Please? At least...touching?" As if to demonstrate his words, Sherlock cupped his hand over the front oh John's jeans, making the doctor take a sharp breath.

"Sherlock..."

"Please?" Before the doctor could protest, Sherlock leaned down and started peppering kisses over his jaw, down his down, burying his nose into the shirt collar.

Nimble fingers hurried to undo the buttons on John's shirt, the soft lips kissing over every inch of skin that was revealed as he slowly moved himself lower.

"Please...please, John...please?"

The pleas were endless, a loop as Sherlock seemed to grow more frantic with each passing second. Once the shirt was undone, he immediately started working on the jeans, tugging open the button and pulling down the zipper.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wait, wait!" Hastily, John grabbed the fumbling hands, stilling their movements. Something wasn't right.

A long whine fell from Sherlock's lips and instead of letting his owner's actions deter him, he pressed his mouth over John's cloth covered member.

The short haired man choked on air, his body reacting to the touches and warmth.

"Sh-Sherlock, s-stop...we...should talk...," He finally managed to bite out between clenched teeth.

All the while, the lanky brunet was determined to make it as difficult as possible for John to think clearly. He mouthed over the half hard erection, sucking on it and soaking John's pants until he became fully erect.

"No...don't want to...no talking, John..."

In one quick move, Sherlock yanked down John's jeans and pants together, leaving his bottom half naked. His hand wrapped around the man's cock firmly, stroking from the base to the tip as his other hand freed himself of his own pajama pants. In the darkness, John didn't realize that as Sherlock was working on his cock, he had gathered the pre-come and spread it over his own opening. The doctor had fisted his hands in some cushions and half hooded his eyes, letting the waves of pleasure rain through his body.

"John...John...," the husky voice whispering his name was hypnotic, chasing away all other thoughts in his mind.

It wasn't until he felt Sherlock's hand stop that the doctor had a moment to clear his head. Long, pale legs straddled his hips and vaguely he felt the tip of his cock brush against something warm. His eyes suddenly widened as he realized what Sherlock was aiming to do. John's hand shot out to stop the panting hybrid just as Sherlock relaxed the muscles in his legs, dropping himself onto John's cock in one swift and painful plunge.

"Sherlock!"

The tightness and heat made his head spin but he gritted his teeth, pushing himself to sit up so that he can wrap his arm around the shuddering body sheathed around his cock.

The pre-come had hardly been enough preparation for such a rough penetration, but Sherlock didn't care. He wanted, he needed. John hadn't made any advances since before the case and Sherlock knew it was because the doctor wanted him to heal. Not just his physical injuries, but the man had some notion that his mind needed healing too, and no matter how much Sherlock tried to make him see that he was fine John just wouldn't be convinced.

But in Sherlock's mind there reigned the lingering memory of Sebastian as he forced himself into Sherlock. The feeling of the other man touching him, kissing him, his hands over him. It made Sherlock want to vomit and scratch at his skin until it peeled off. He needed John to make those memories go away, he needed to replace them with the feel of the doctor once more because otherwise he couldn't even look at himself without being hit with nausea. He needed to feel John pushing into him, not tenderly, not lovingly, but hard and fast until the horrid memories become dashed on the edges of uncontrollable frenzy. But John wouldn't, John would never and Sherlock knew that.

The pain of being forcefully stretched singed through him as every nerve in Sherlock spasmed. His arms clung to John, face buried in the man's neck as he trembled, too afraid to move. John was upset, the brunet could feel his owner's body thrumming with tension even as he tried to gently remove himself from Sherlock, only stopping because any movement he made caused the distraught hybrid to whine in pain.

"Sherlock...Sherlock why would you...oh god, hold on, love," John's voice was strained as he trained to grip Sherlock with one arm, the other one propped on the floor to keep himself from falling back.

Sherlock had his eyes closed, knowing if he opened them the tears of pain would be freed.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry, John...please...," he didn't even know what he was apologizing for anymore, but if John was upset, then it had to be his fault, and he needed to apologize for it.

"Shhh, love, it's OK, hold on to me, it's going to be OK," John comforted as he bent his legs, then used all the strength he had to push himself onto his knees, leaning forward so that he could lay Sherlock down on his back.

He attempted to pull out, but Sherlock's quiet whimper made him stop. Desperately, the doctor gathered some saliva in his mouth and spat into his hand, reaching down and using it to add at least a bit of lubrication to the abused opening.

"Love, I need you to relax your muscles, can you do that for me? I don't want to hurt you more, please, Sherlock."

He felt a wet patch at his neck and realized Sherlock was crying. It tore at his heart, but he felt the muscles around him loosen. Gently and as slowly as he could, John pulled back. The arms around him tightened as if Sherlock was still reluctant to let him go. Finally, when he managed to pull out completely, the man let out a breath of relief.

Sherlock released him and curled up on his side, hugging himself and whimpering while hiding his face in a cushion. John hurriedly got up and turned on the lamp beside the sofa, bathing the room in a warm glow. He grabbed Sherlock's night gown which had been draped over the back of his armchair and gently covered the still shaking hybrid with it. He took the chance to get dressed again before settling down beside the quiet hybrid, running his fingers through the soft curls.

"Sherlock, talk to me. What can I do?"

His only response were soft sniffling.

"Do you want some painkillers?"

Sherlock shook his head, pulling the night gown tighter around himself.

With a soft sigh, John decided to just let Sherlock be for now, staying where he was and rubbing at the furry ears. When John felt that maybe Sherlock had fallen asleep, a pale arm reached out and grabbed his shirt. Red rimmed eyes peered up from the cushion, swollen and tired. John brushed his fingers over the defined cheeks, wiping away the tears.

"Sherlock..."

"You're...angry?" The timid voice queried.

"No, I'm not. Of course I'm not, Sherlock. I just want to make sure you're OK. Does it still hurt?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Will you let me take a look? Just to check and make sure nothing's torn?" John tried to ask as gently as possible.

This time, he received a nod. Without a word, Sherlock shuffled onto his back and pulled the night gown off, opening his legs. He looked at John expectantly, eyes holding no sign of reluctance or discomfort at the action. John swallowed the swell in his throat and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit, OK? Be back in a flash."

He practically ran into the bathroom, taking the little box down from the shelf along with a bottle of lubrication. He washed his hands and went back into the living room to find that Sherlock hadn't moved, except now he was staring at the ceiling.

Settling down between the bent legs, he disinfected his hands.

"If anything is painful, even just a little, let me know, OK? Promise me you'll let me know, Sherlock."

Eyes still trained above him, Sherlock nodded.

Taking a deep breath, John liberally coated his fingers with the lube, eyes checking the ring of muscle and relieved to see there appeared no sign of torn tissues. He slid a cushion under the trim hips and gently brushed his fingers over the puckered opening. The muscles twitched, but Sherlock made no sound.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," the soft baritone voice answered.

Taking great care, John slipped a finger inside. He went slowly, knowing that even if it didn't hurt, Sherlock would be sore from earlier.

"Talk to me, love. Tell me if it feels OK."

There was a slight pause, and John felt the thigh muscles tense before they relaxed again.

"Feels...fine. Doesn't hurt...I'm fine, John."

The doctor pushed in a little bit more. Every time his finger slipped deeper into the tight heat he would stop and make sure Sherlock was OK. It took a long time before the digit was seated in to the knuckle, but to his relief he had confirmed that there were no tears or injuries inside the precious body. He pulled out his finger slowly before taking a wet tissue from the first aid kit and wiping his hands. Tenderly, the man leaned down and pressed a kiss to a milky thigh, nudging them closed before he draped the night gown over Sherlock once more.

"Sherlock, what happened? Why did you...?"

John couldn't help asking as he pulled the subdued hybrid into his arms.

Sherlock seemed drained after all the crying and he gratefully pillowed his head on John.

"I...I just wanted...to forget. Think about something else...feel something else. I don't mind pain, I can take it. I wanted your pain to make me forget...his," begging blue eyes met John's, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I upset you..."

John didn't know how many more of these heartbreaks he could take as the muscle squeezed painfully in his chest once more.

"No, you don't have to apologize, Sherlock. But...I don't want to cause you pain, any pain. It's natural to want to forget something so horrible, that's OK. I want to help you do that, but not through more pain, love. If the memory becomes too much, tell me, we'll work it out together, yeah? I'll do everything I can to help you, OK?"

The blue eyes flooded once more and Sherlock blinked quickly, trying to stop the salty droplets from falling. Looking into John's eyes, he marvelled once more at how incredibly lucky he was to have had this man cross his path. He buried his face to John's chest and took a shuddering breath.

"OK."

 

* * *

 

_** CHAPTER 29 END ** _

I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!!!  It started FLUFFY!! I was going for FLUFF!!  OTL 

I swear, I did NOT mean for that to happen ;O;

I can't believe you guys are still with me, we're almost at chapter 30!!  AHHHHH!!!!!!  Sneaking up on 100,000 words!!!  THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!


	30. The Cheesecake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft contemplates over his own past as Sherlock and John make some plans together.

 

Mycrof sighed as he shut the lid of his laptop. It was useless, he had been trying to concentrate the entire morning but nothing was being retained in his mind. The reports he had read took twice as long as usual just because he had to keep re-reading them. This was ridiculous.

He leaned back in his chair, staring down the long, wooden table. The room was empty aside from himself, the quietness settling in the air. A simple visit would set his mind at ease, a few words exchanged, but when it came to the residents of 221B Baker Street things were never quite so simple. Sherlock would no doubt hiss and growl at him, and John would either punch him or watch him warily depending on the doctor's mood. It was a wonder those two managed to end up together, although Mycroft knew the real reason why they fit so well.

Sherlock was damaged, possibly beyond repair. The wounds and scars cut so deep that he probably didn't even realize he carried them anymore. He was still a force to be reckoned with if given the chance, but a harsh word or sign of disapproval and Mycroft knew his baby brother would easily slide to his knees in submission.

Even for the elder Holmes, knowing his own position of power, Mycroft sometimes still had difficulty dealing with humans. He had to constantly remind himself that he was one of them, that he didn't have a need to feel inferior, that if they yelled and raved, he didn't have to cower back and instead can look them in the eye and tell them to shut up. That was the conditioning drilled into both himself and Sherlock since birth. Humans' words were absolute, they were not to be questioned. And the words of one's owner were never to be disobeyed.

Luckily for Sherlock, John never took advantage of that power. Not only that, but he adamantly refuses to put the power to use in any way. He doesn't bark orders or treat Sherlock like a pet. There were owners who were kind and loving towards their hybrids, but they were still participants of the system. Their orders never harmed and they showered attention and affection on their pets. But in those relationships, there still existed the power difference between owner and pet. John seemed to be in a different category, more in line with the activists who demand abolition of the system entirely. Where Sherlock was concerned, the doctor tried his utmost to treat the other as an equal, someone he cherished not as property, but as a partner.

Mycroft took his glass of brandy and swirled it around. His eyes grew distant as he wondered if he could have turned out differently if someone like John had became his owner.

The family that had bought him initially had placed him in the care of their youngest son, Henry. The boy didn't mean any harm, but children were often cruel in their naivete. He had tugged and pulled on Mycroft's ears and tail whenever he got the chance, wanting to know how they were attached. He tried feeding the hybrid all sorts of disgusting things from dirt to worms, using Mycroft more as experiment material than a pet. The parents were wealthy and often away on trips leaving the house in the hands of their teenage daughter and son along with Henry. The two elder siblings would throw extravagant parties while their parents were gone, and like many teenage humans, they would provide large amounts of alcohol along with certain illicit drugs at these events.

Mycroft hated the rich. They were always the most sadistic in their ways. With more than enough wealth to bring down nations and copious amounts of free time their boredom drove them to turn their attention towards darker interests. It didn't help that their own luxuries often blinded them to the pain and suffering felt by others, a paper cut to them felt like the end of the world. So how would they know what it felt like when the crack of a whip fell over his naked body? Or when they forced enough alcohol down his throat to send him to the hospital, dying from alcohol poisoning?

When they were together in the breeding centre, Mycroft had tried to shield Sherlock as much as possible from their future fate. He knew early on that his little brother was more prone to emotions and feelings than he was, growing attached to any of the staff that showed him even a little bit of kindness. That was dangerous, and Sherlock would be destined to be hurt in the worst possible way if he continued, so Mycroft had did what he believed his brother needed. Day and night he told Sherlock to forget his feelings, lock them away, stop caring, because those were weaknesses. Never show weakness if you want to survive, because it will lay you bare to the cruelty of humans. Sherlock, in adoration for his big brother, had drank it all in Mycroft had thought the boy had a chance then to at least survive past his teens.

The whispers that reached his ears of a civilian helper for Scotland Yard had been completely unexpected. Even more startling was the newspaper that landed on his desk showing the photo of DI Lestrade with a man in a long trench coat and hat. The eyes had been the same, the blue sparkling and clear. Although Sherlock's height had grown, those inquisitive eyes remained the same. They looked more weary, mature, wise, but underlying them Mycroft saw a strength he had never witnessed in his baby brother before.

Immediately he had put in an enquiry for the name of this person and it came back in minutes. Sherlock. A civilian consultant that DI Lestrade seemed to have had a soft spot for and brought into Scotland Yard several times for cases. His address was listed as 221B Baker Street, a roommate for a Dr. John Watson.

Roommate indeed. Mycroft had almost laughed at the absurdity. The hat and coat were clear disguises to hide his hybrid traits and he had set to research more about his brother's whereabouts in the twenty some odd years they had been apart. What he found was, unfortunately, pretty much what he had expected.

John Watson had been a surprise development. His treatment of Sherlock had more than once caused Mycroft to pause. The man was smitten, it was clear, and Sherlock was completely taken by the doctor too. Mycroft had never seen Sherlock look at anyone with those open expressions of adoration and it eased some of his anxiety knowing his brother was in good hands.

The older Holmes had worried over whether to make himself known to Sherlock several times, but there was no doubt in his mind that his presence would not be welcomed with open arms. So he kept watch from the shadows, making use of his influence to track the younger hybrid and his owner through CCTV cameras. Now, however, John and Sherlock knew about him and on top of that they had made an enemy in Moriarty. Mycroft felt that this time he couldn't let Sherlock down again. Whatever it takes, he had to make sure both his brother and John Watson are safe.

With some reluctant he pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped out a message.

_'Delivery order - before 5pm tonight. Destination, 221B Baker Street. 1 strawberry cheesecake, topped with chocolate syrup. - M'_

The phone let out a little beep as it sent the message and Mycroft rubbed his eyes tiredly. Well, better get back to work.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

John stared at the cake in wonderment, not sure what to feel. A delivery man had just dropped it off at their front door claiming it came from someone who merely signed as "M". He placed it in the centre of their kitchen table and glanced into the living room where Sherlock was curled up on the sofa, watching videos on his laptop.

"Someone sent a cheesecake? I smell chocolate and strawberry too," he called from his lounging place.

"Yeah, yeah, they did. Strawberry cheesecake, and there's chocolate sauce too. You'll never guess who sent it though," John shook his head as he walked to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, eyes bewildered.

Keen eyes scanned him over noting the high class box in John's hand, now empty of its contents.

"You feel uneasy about whoever sent it, this person has money, knows sweets well to order something so particular, and considering they had it delivered instead of bringing it themselves...," he made a small scoffing noise as he realized who it was, "Oh god, his arrogant highness strikes again."

John sighed and chuckled, "Well, it does look good. Want to try some?"

As much as Sherlock tried to look disinterested his tail wavered, betraying him.

"J-Just a bit then."

The doctor cut out two slices and set them onto dessert plates. He brewed some tea to go with the sweets and brought everything into the living room, putting it down on the coffee table. Sherlock shuffled his legs off the sofa to make room for John to sit down as he put the laptop on the floor. The short haired man pulled the lanky hybrid into his lap and the two settled in to have their dessert.

They took their time, enjoying the sweetness, offset by the slight bitterness of the tea. After every few bites, they would steal some kisses from each other. Sherlock pressed himself as tightly to John as possible, his tail flicking lazily where it rested on the sofa cushions.

"Happy?"

Sherlock just purred in reply, rubbing his nose against the jumper John was wearing.

"Are you happy, John?"

A gentle smile spread across the doctor's face as he kissed the curls.

"Very. Unbelievably. I never would have imagined before that I could be this happy, especially not after coming back from Afghanistan."

Sherlock peered up at him from under his lashes. He stilled remembered that first time he saw John. The man looked so tired, both physically and mentally. Plainly the image of someone suffering from sleep deprivation and the beginnings of malnutrition. His eyes had been dull, irritated uninterested in everything going on around him, and he had walked with his back hunched, head lowered, trying to just get through the throngs of people without being noticed.

When Sherlock first came to Baker Street, several times a week the doctor would be woken from sleep by nightmares. Sometimes it got so bad he would end up not sleeping for the rest of the night. At first, Sherlock had been too frightened to do or say anything, but it hurt to see the man suffering, so after a few weeks, he started following John out of bed when he had his nightmares. They would hug and cuddle on the sofa, Sherlock offering a warm body for John to hold on to to keep away the grisly images in his mind. Usually that would be enough to lull the doctor back into sleep.

Slowly, Sherlock noticed things changing in John. His posture straightened when they went walking, his laughs increased, and the darkness around his eyes faded. There were still moments he brooded on memories, but they no longer haunted his every waking moment as his attention turned to focus on Sherlock. Being a doctor, the man had a clear need in him to take care of others, and he had poured all of that into Sherlock. It had been a perfect match, the need of one person to offer care and the need of another to receive it.

Sherlock raised his tail and brushed it over the sensitive area under John's chin, making him laugh and swat at the furry length gently.

"Hey!"

The smiling hybrid only doubled his efforts, pulling out bouts of helpless laughter from his owner. Somewhere along the way, John retaliated, his wriggling fingers skirting over Sherlock's stomach lightly and making the brunet yelp and curl up to protect his ticklish belly. The two engaged in a tickling war, rolling over the sofa as fingers and tail attacked mercilessly.

By the time it ended, both parties were panting, sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa, legs tangled in the centre.

"It's...really not fair...you have a tail!" John complained, throwing a playful glare towards his opponent.

"Not my fault...you...can't grow one," Sherlock retorted.

They looked at each other from their respective sides and then doubled over in laughter once more. Sherlock pushed himself up from his sprawled position and crawled over to John, flopping himself down on top of the man. Even after the many months they've been together, he still starved for the doctor's affection, seeking his touches whenever he got the chance.

"Sherlock?" John's voice interrupted Sherlcok's purring as the man petted him gently.

"Yes?"

"Is there anywhere you want to go? Visit?"

Large hands pillowed on John's chest as Sherlock propped his chin on them, ears turning a bit as he thought.

"Um...well there's suppose to be a new cake shop down by Scotland Yard."

The doctor laughed and tapped his ear, "No, I meant as a trip."

Sherlock blinked, "A trip? No, never considered that before. Why? Do you want to go somewhere?"

John leaned his head back against the armrest, eye tracing over the patterns on the ceiling.

"Just thinking. It's going to be Christmas soon, maybe we should go somewhere."

Sherlock shook his head as he remembered something he had read, "Most forms of transportation won't allow hybrids to ride in the same class with humans. You...you'd have to send me with the other pets."

John flinched and hugged Sherlock tightly, "Oh...I forgot about that. Dammit. Um...how about something closer then? The London Eye, have you ever been on there?"

The tail swished with interest at the suggestion as a spark lit up in Sherlock's eyes.

"No...is it...fun?"

"Well, I haven't been on there myself, but my sister went when she got engaged. She said you can book a private capsule with champagne and...other...romantic things," the man tried to remember what Harry had told him since at the time he hadn't really been listening, "Would you like that? If we take a ride on there? There's an aquarium nearby that area too, we can take a look if you'd like."

By now the tail was waving about in excitement. The chance to go up and see London from the air? And to visit an aquarium, he'll get to see many of the animals he's watched on the documentaries up close. It sounded perfect. Sherlock let out a squeak of joy as he hugged John so tightly the doctor's breath was almost squeezed out of his chest.

"Yes! Yes! Please, John!"

Once more, the doctor's laughter broke through the flat as he snuggled his hybrid and made a mental note to look into making reservations. A fun time out in the city, John felt a thrill spiral through him, it felt like their first date together.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 30 END** _

OK, so I did some loose calculations (since I time jump a lot, it leaves a lot of flexibility for how much time passed between each event) and our boys have been together for (at least) over 6 or 7 months by now.  With a date and Christmas on the way, you can be sure there'll be cuddles and snuggles abound!!

On another note, I'm entering into summer vacation and I'm heading home to Canada (from Japan) for a month.  I don't know how much time I'll have to write during that month, so this story is probably going to be more or less on unofficial hiatus until I get back ;O;  Thank you all so much for your lovely support thus far, and I promise I won't forget this story, and if I have the chance to update I will over summer!!

Love you all!!

 


	31. The Holiday Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John head out for some Christmas shopping as they make some plans for the holiday season.

Sherlock mewled and ducked his head as a snowflake hit him on the nose. It was cold and wet, two things he decidedly did NOT enjoy. He moved closer to the man walking beside him, trying to keep out of the way of the people hurrying about. Now that the season had entered into winter, even the usually scarce clothed hybrids that followed behind their owners were dressed more appropriately for the weather. Sherlock pitied the few who were still baring skin in the cold chill and he pulled his own coat tighter around himself as he imagined how freezing it must feel to be without the protective layers of clothing.

The street was decorated with sparkling lights. The trees that lined the sidewalk were stripped of their leaves, showing off the beautiful glow of the multitude of sparkling gems that adorned their branches. In the shop windows giant signs proclaimed holiday sales as large Christmas trees glittered to the delight of many children. An endless stream of people walked in and out of the shopping centres, all holding armfuls of bags, some smiling and laughing with family as others hurried to get home.

John liked the holiday season as much as the next person, although he did tire of the stress that came along with it. At home he and Harry used to decorate their tree together, arguing over which ornament went where. On Christmas morning there would be the expected mountain of presents accompanied by their squeals of delight as they tore into the packaging.

Sherlock's eyes lingered over the signs of Christmas from the lights to the decorations to the many festive new foods that came out in stores. He knew about the holiday, of course, but he had always dreaded it. Christmas brought about many parties, and parties meant alcohol, lots of alcohol, which then led to drunken owners. The parties Sebastian liked to attend often ended with Sherlock in so much pain that he would pass out. He eyed the many sparkly ornaments on the Christmas trees, ears twitching at the soft music chirping away merry tunes. No, he definitely didn't have a fondness for this season at all.

John glanced over at his companion who huddled closer and closer to him as they walked. It was almost as if Sherlock was trying to press himself into John as much as possible without appearing to do so. He frowned and wrapped an arm around the tall hybrid's waist, pulling him close.

"Are you OK?"

Sherlock looked at him timidly then glanced around at the crowds of people.

"Yes...just...there's a lot of people here."

John nodded in understanding and looked around for somewhere a little more secluded so they can catch their breath. Sherlock didn't like being crowded, with his cat-like instincts being more sensitive than humans, he found crowds suffocating. It also made him anxious, fearing that he could lose John in the throngs of strangers and be taken away.

The doctor glanced into a shop that looked fairly calm. It was one of the more expensive shops on this street, most of the people inside were middle-aged women looking at jewelery of clothing. Not caring that they would appear out of place, John pulled Sherlock into it and immediately felt a wave of relief hit him as the noise from the street quieted behind the closed door. Sherlock left out a huff of air as his posture relaxed too, giving himself a little shake and running his fingers through his slightly snow-damped curls.

"Hi there, how may I help you today, sir?" A shop staff immediately came over to greet them.

"Uh, we're just looking for now, thanks," the doctor stammered, slightly caught off guard.

"Certainly. If you need any help, please feel free to call upon any of the staff here. Just to let you know, we're having a special today on all hats, scarves and gloves. If you purchase one item, the second item is fifty percent off."

"Oh, that's great. Thank you," John gave the woman a stiff smile as she nodded and walked away.

Looking behind him, the older man noticed that Sherlock's eyes were directed toward a Santa statue in the centre of the store. The merry old man had rosy cheeks with several presents at his feet.

"Sherlock?"

"Do children really believe it?" The soft ears flicked as Sherlock voiced the question, eyes still trained on the figure.

"Hm? Believe what?"

"Santa. The man who supposedly flies around the world in one night and gives presents to all the kids in the world by popping down their chimney. It's...utterly ludicrous."

John laughed and patted Sherlock's back.

"Well, Santa's magic, so anything's possible."

"But why would parents want their kids to believe in a lie? That makes no sense."

"I guess it's because there's really no harm if kids believe in Santa. It's just something fun for them to look forward to, not to mention a way to get kids to behave. You know, the whole 'nice kids get presents, naughty kids get coal' thing?"

"Hm, I suppose. But then don't kids get angry at their parents when they find out the truth?"

"I think most kids aren't too upset by it by the time they find out. I mean, presents are presents, whether they come from Santa or your parents, right?"

Sherlock finally turned his head and looked at John.

"I wouldn't know. I never received presents from Santa or my parents. I mean technically I have parents, but since they just put sperm and eggs into a petridish to make me it's not like I've ever known who they were."

John's soft smile fell from his face as his mouth fell open. His eyes searched Sherlock's but they were impassive, as if Sherlock was just making an observation.

"You've...never thought about trying to find out who they are?"

"No. Never been interested in finding out. They signed agreements to allow their sperm and eggs to be used in creating hybrids, I don't think they would particularly want the results to show up on their doorstep."

Sherlock's eyes trailed back to the Santa, eyeing the man. His brows furrowed as he then turned and looked out the large store windows, watching a family walk past, the parents carrying a young child as an older child laughed and ran ahead.

"Is it...fun? Having parents?" The soft voice was almost timid as Sherlock glanced at John.

The doctor's arm tightened around the slim waist, trying to think of how to explain it.

"It's...it's comforting. Knowing there are people who love and protect you when you're not prepared to take care of yourself yet. It's like...no matter how bad things get, if they're there, then everything's OK. I remember one time I caught a cold and came down with a fever. It was really bad, they had to take me to the hospital for it. But even though I was miserable and actually thought I was dying, when my mom held me I thought things would be OK. Like, she's there, so she'll make things OK, and I didn't have to act tough or be brave, I could let it all go."

John smiled to himself as the words brought back the memories. He had been seven at the time, and his mom had stayed with him at the hospital the whole time until he had been discharged. She brought him all the foods he liked, made sure he was comfortable, held him as he fell asleep, and his dad had told him they'd go out for pizza, ice cream, and cake after he got better just to give him something to look forward to.

Sherlock's tail grazed over John's hand gently, as if he knew what the man was thinking about. He gave the doctor a half grin as he bent down and pressed his lips to John's cheek.

"If that's what parents do, I've got one right here."

John blinked in surprise before he burst into laughter, hugging Sherlock.

"Well then, that means I should get you some presents, yeah? Anything on your wishlist?"

Predictably, Sherlock shook his head as he pulled John further into the store, away from the stares of a few older ladies.

"At the risk of sounding insanely cheesy, my getting to meet you has been the best possible present. I must have been incredibly 'nice' for Santa to give you to me."

John couldn't help the soppy smile that stretched his lips wide.

"Well, that doesn't count, because it goes the same for me. You have no idea how much I was despising my life after being discharged from the military, I had nothing...no plans for the future, no idea what to do with my life. Just a limp and a disorder that wouldn't give me a moment's peace."

Sherlock stopped by a few racks of scarves, running his fingers over a dark blue one.

"You would have figured it out. You just needed some time."

John pulled the soft garment down and wrapped it around Sherlock's neck, tying it loosely.

"Except I don't know how long I would have been willing to wait. Before I met you, I always kept my gun in my desk, right below my laptop. Every day when I pulled out my laptop I would see the gun...and several times I wondered...it really didn't feel like anybody would have cared if I just disappeared back then."

Sherlock's hand fell over John's where he lightly gripped the scarf.

"John...that's impossible. Lots of people care about you, even if you think they don't."

The doctor pushed himself up on the balls of his feet and landed a kiss to Sherlock's lips. Their warm breaths ghosted over each other and when they pulled apart John brushed his fingers over Sherlock's cheek.

By the time the two walked out the store's front doors, a flustered Sherlock was wearing a new scarf and a new pair of gloves. The doctor insisted the scarf was most becoming on Sherlock, and the gloves will help keep his fingers from freezing in the London winter, besides "they're having a special!".

Sherlock had tried to convince John that he really didn't need his new gifts, and even if he did, there were less expensive ones to be found, but John would have none of it. Christmas only comes once a year, he had told Sherlock, and saving money can come AFTER the holidays.

Despite his protests, the curly haired hybrid snuggled his head down into the scarf, running his gloved fingers over the soft material. It did keep his neck warm from the chilly winds so that he didn't have to keeping pulling the coat tight around the collar. His eyes shifted to John as they walked, mind already trying to figure out what he can get for his owner in return.

"John? Wh-what do you want? For Christmas I mean."

The short haired man raised an eyebrow at the question, eyes glancing towards the sky as he thought.

"Hmm, a nice fire in the fireplace, a cup of hot tea, and an armful of Sherlock sounds lovely."

He was answered with a pout as Sherlock gave him a little shove.

"That's what we did last night."

"Doesn't mean I can't want it for Christmas."

An eye roll answered him this time.

"I'm serious, John. I...I'm new to all this."

John's teasing smirk melted into a softer smile as he leaned in and gave Sherlock a reassuring pat on the back.

"Sherlock, really, you don't have to worry about it. Gifts aren't tit-for-tat like that. I didn't get you the scarf and glove expecting something in return."

"Well it's not an explicitly written rule, but it's one of those unspoken etiquette isn't it? I read that on the internet. It's rude not to return a gift when you've been given one."

Sherlock's eyes clouded over with uncertainty and guilt as he tugged on the scarf.

"Oh Sherlock...OK, OK, if you really want to give me something in return...hm...oh! Christmas dinner! Can you make Christmas dinner? We can invite Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly to join us...Mycroft too I guess, if he's not too busy being the British Government."

The idea of getting to make the famed holiday dishes sparked a fire in Sherlock's eyes and he nodded enthusiastically.

"I'll look up the recipes as soon as we get home. I doubt Mycroft will come though, he hates 'mingling', as he calls it. And I think he would want to keep his social interactions as minimal as possible in order to keep his identity confidential."

"That's true...Lestrade was already asking about him. But if he does come we can make up an identity and name for him. Maybe Mike from the bank or something."

Sherlock snickered at the name, imagining his brother's indignation at having to pretend to be a mere commoner.

"Somehow I don't think he will like that idea, but you can attempt it."

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

The sun was already setting when John and Sherlock arrived back at Baker Street. They shook the snow from their hair and coats, and as John went downstairs to deliver some tea they had bought to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock worked on starting a fire in the fireplace. The doctor came back with a basket of muffins their landlady had made just as Sherlock was pushing their armchairs aside to make room on the floor in front of the fire. He laid down a heat mat on the floor and piled on some cushions and blankets. Last night they had enjoyed themselves just like this and had ended up falling asleep right in the living room.

John set the muffins down on the floor and headed into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for dinner. Sherlock joined him after he had finished making his little cushions fortress, helping to pull out the dishes and cutlery they need.

"Do we want tea or hot chocolate today?"

Sherlock eyed the two cans John held out to him. He didn't mind tea, but hot chocolate sounded heavenly, especially since John puts marshmallows in for him. Sheepishly, he poked the hot chocolate can and blushed as John chuckled.

"Two hot chocolates, coming up."

Sherlock pulled out the package of fluffy marshmallows and handed it to the doctor. He could certainly make the drink himself easily, but somehow it always tasted better when John made it. He put the kettle on as the older man measured out the powder and milk, tail flicking behind him.

The microwave beeped that their food was ready just as the kettle boiled. John took care of their drinks as Sherlock went to take their food. He pulled the dishes out of the microwave and brought them to the living room, setting them on the floor beside the muffins before going back for serviettes and forks. Spaghetti tonight, which always reminded him of that first night he had arrived at Baker Street. The first time he had been allowed to indulge in human food for a whole meal.

"All set here?" John asked as he came in holding their cups.

"All set."

The doctor sat down first, putting the drinks down so they were safely out of the way but still reachable. He stretched his legs out on the floor, leaning back against the front of the armchair so that his back was supported. Sherlock waited until he was settled before moving in to seat himself in John's lap, cuddling close. He pulled a blanket up over both of them, knowing that as the heat from the heat mat below is trapped by the blanket, it will get nice and toasty warm. John pulled the snuggling hybrid close and kissed his ear, rubbing gently at the back of Sherlock's neck to help him relax. Within minutes he was rewarded with loud purring as Sherlock leaned his head down on John's shoulder, the tension from their little shopping trip draining from his body.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Thank you...the scarf and gloves...they're lovely."

John brushed the curls back from Sherlock's forehead and kissed it gently.

"My pleasure, love."

He reached out and took one of the drinks, handing it to Sherlock who wrapped both his hands around the cup.

"Careful, it's hot."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, having gotten burned more than enough times before to know that he needed to give the hot drink time to cool, especially since his tongue was more sensitive than John's. He blew over the drink a few times, cautiously dipping the tip of his tongue in to test the temperature before taking a sip. The sweet, chocolate taste mixed with the milk John had used in the mix, warming him up from the inside as it went down his throat.

The two occupants of the flat watched the fire, slowly making their way through their dinner. It was only a few more days until Christmas and Mrs. Hudson had insisted on helping them decorate the flat a few days back, so now there was tinsel by the windows and doorway and lights over the fireplace. It had been quite a sight as they tried untangling the sparkling strands, and Sherlock had ended up trapped in a bundle of tinsel and lights, looking much like a Christmas decoration himself. John had laughed and snapped several pictures as the brunet growled, trying to yank his way out, only to get more ensnared until the doctor finally took pity on him and helped him untangle the mess.

Even though neither John nor Sherlock were fastidiously set on celebrating the holidays, the season has kept them quite busy. A few shopping trips, decorating the flat, not to mention the Christmas Eve dinner they were planning, and then on New Year's Eve, they had made reservations for the London Eye. Usually the ride is half an hour with champagne and chocolates, but since it was the New Year's Eve, the attraction offered a special package of a midnight, one hour ride complete with the champagne and chocolates, but also an assortment of other refreshments. It was romantic, sappy, and normally the kind of thing John would only agree to when forced by a girlfriend, but the way Sherlock's eyes had lit up when he mentioned it had him making reservations almost immediately.

As their meal finished, Sherlock patted his stomach in contentment, licking his lips. Warm, with a full tummy, and in John's arms, he really couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend an evening. He thought over their plan for Christmas dinner, knowing that Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade will most likely accept their invitation so long as they had nothing else planned.  Mycroft, however, he can't imagine Mycroft enjoying hours of interacting with humans.

The older hybrid had dropped in a few times at the flat, mostly to prepare John for the trials which were scheduled to take place in the early months of the new year. Every time he came, Sherlock would hide in the bedroom, until the doctor would coax him into coming out to at least say 'hi'. His brother still grated on Sherlock's nerves, and conversations between them often devolved into petty bickering until John would step in. It was amusing to watch the two Holmes, brilliant geniuses flinging insults at each other like two children in the sandbox, and John was sure no one would believe him if he were to ever describe the scenes to outsiders.

Actually, it had been Mycroft who had first mentioned to John about the Eye of London's New Year's Eve special package, and he had a suspicious feeling that the man might have had a hand in his registration since the price seemed far less expensive than he had anticipated. Either way, he had found out from his acquaintance with the elder Holmes that for all his haughty impatience when it came to dealing with his brother, Mycroft tried to look out for him. Maybe it was a sense of guilt for all those years of suffering Sherlock had to live through without his brother being there, or maybe it was something else, but whatever it was, John felt glad they had someone with a powerful position in the British government on their side.

Sherlock's head drooped on John's shoulder as the drowsy aftereffects of eating overtook him. John gently rubbed his ears as he shifted them into a more comfortable position, laying the tall hybrid down and covering him with the blanket. Sherlock curled up beside him, drawn to his heat, and as the fire slowly died, the two fell into a restful sleep. Outside, a layer of white snow covered the city as if in preparation for the festivities of the holiday season.

 

* * *

  
_**CHAPTER 31 END** _

I'M BAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That was kind of an insane 3 weeks vacation, between 14 hour plane rides to camping, whale watching, whirl winding into cities to meet friends, and eating WAY too much food every day, whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, I need a vacation from my vacation, xDD

But now I'm back in Japan and classes have started once more, which means it's time to catch up on my writing!!!

Just some fluff to ease us back into things. Some of this I wrote while on the plane, with 14 hours (and no internet) it gives me a LOT of time to waste, lol.


	32. The Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock spend their first Christmas Eve together <3
> 
> WARNING!  
> Smut ahead, hot, explicit smut. With rimming. Yes. Rimming.

Sherlock opened the bathroom door and walked out, towel around his hips as he used another one on his hair. John was already on the bed, propped up on some pillows, reading a book. He smiled up and put the book aside as Sherlock walked into the room, watching as the brunet rubbed over his ears with the towel, trying to get the fur dry.

With a soft sigh, Sherlock sat himself down on the edge of the bed, feeling relaxed and refreshed after his shower. John crawled over to him, taking the towel from his hands to help him dry his hair. He gently ruffled the damp curls that looked black now that they were wet, running his fingers through the strands to make sure it wasn't tangled.

"When are they coming tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, leaning his head back into John's touches.

"Mrs. Hudson said she'll come up around four to help with any last minute preparations we've got. Molly and Greg are coming around five," John replied, bending his head down to brush a kiss to Sherlock's bared shoulder.

The days had flown by and already it was Christmas Eve. They had been out all day buying the things they needed to make Christmas dinner tomorrow and Sherlock had checked and doubled checked to make sure he had everything ready to go. It made him a little anxious, cooking a big dinner like this for the first time, but since John will be around all day tomorrow to help out and act as food taster it put him more at ease.

Turning to rest one leg up on the bed, Sherlock turned his head to kiss John, their mouths fitting together easily. The doctor's arms wrapped around his hybrid to pull him in closer, running his fingers over the soft, pale skin on Sherlock's back. He couldn't help tracing over the bumps and ridges he felt, having almost memorized the scar patterns by now. In the weeks and months following their rescue from the hands of Sebastian and Moriarty, John had meticulously taken care of Sherlock's injuries, cleaning them, bandaging them, making sure they healed properly. Still, even the best care couldn't avoid scars when the wounds ran so deep and even now, it still caused his heart to squeeze in pain every time he saw them.

Sherlock mewled softly into his mouth, knowing what John was doing. While the physical pain from what had happened had long disappeared, the memories still lingered in both of their minds. Sherlock felt he was actually coping much better than John, who seemed to spiral into depression and guilt every time he was reminded of the events that had transpired. To Sherlock, it was just another bad memory to add to an endless list of bad memories that he had survived, but to John, it seemed like THE worst memory, even worse than the bullet to his shoulder. Perhaps it made sense, getting shot at on a battlefield in a war zone is not exactly unexpected, it was an experience John shared with many others who were unfortunate enough to find themselves in the midst of a war. Getting captured by a murderous criminal, however, that wasn't anywhere near as common.

Large hands gently pushed at the doctor to lay back as Sherlock shifted further onto the bed. Not breaking the kiss, John complied with the unspoken request, leaning back and pulling Sherlock with him until he laid flat on the bed. Sherlock's lean frame loomed over the older man, their mouths still moving sweetly against each other. The towel around the trim waist slipped off leaving every inch of Sherlock's body bare and he gently pressed his hips down, rubbing himself against John's pyjama covered groin.

With a soft gasp, John broke the kiss, his hands resting on the slender hips above him. His eyes were already misted with desire when he opened them, even as he made a soft, questioning noise in his throat.

Sherlock paused his movements, eyes watching John closely as if trying to judge the man's reactions. He knew the doctor physically wanted sex, that much was easy to deduce from his body's reactions, but he kept trying to deny it, claiming that Sherlock wasn't ready. Sherlock had managed to persuade him into at least a handjob or a blowjob a few times a week, but every time he tried pushing for intercourse John refused, coaxing him to be patient, to let himself heal.

"Sh..Sherlock?" The soft voice was low and slightly strained, tinted with arousal.

"John, I want to...please? Can't we tonight?"

For a few seconds silence reigned and Sherlock was fearful that he would be faced with another rejection. Instead, he felt a soft hand cupping his cheek as John's eyes seemed to study him.

"Sherlock...I-I don't want to hurt you..."

"You won't!" He hurried to reassure the man, eyes hopeful, "You won't, John, I know you won't. Please, can't we?"

His pleas were accompanied by a wide eyed pout, complete with drooping ears and tail. He knew it was the best look to tug at John's heartstrings and usually it got him whatever he wanted.

Sherlock never voiced it to John, but apart from the physical pleasures of intercourse he had discovered with the man, he desired it so desperately for a separate reason. The first time he had felt the doctor's semen pooling into him, it had brought a sense of belonging to him that he never realized he craved. He belonged to John more than just a collar around his neck stated. While the man always refuted any claims that he had ownership over Sherlock, the brunet wanted to feel like he was John's, and only John's.

Sebastian had taken that away from him in the most brutal way possible, marking him physically by the scars on his back, and mentally when he had forced himself onto Sherlock. It was different from when he had been owned by Sebastian, when he had a legal obligation to do as his owner demanded. Whatever abuse Sebastian had put him through then, it had been out of his control as he couldn't fight back against his owner. This time, however, it wasn't the same. He hadn't belonged to Sebastian, he had had an obligation to make sure he wasn't touched by anyone unless with John's permission. He still remembered clearly the sense of failure he had felt when Sebastian had pushed into him, his cries more from the thought that he had somehow betrayed John rather than any physical pain he had been in.

Only one person can absolve him of that guilt, and that was John. He needed John to re-stake his claim, he needed the doctor to once more attest with his body that he still wanted Sherlock.

A soft sigh and another gently press of lips to Sherlock's mouth brought him back to the present. John was looking at him with some uncertainty, but it was clear in his eyes that he was tempted to give in to what Sherlock wanted.

"Are you sure you're ready? What if..?"

Quickly, Sherlock hushed any doubting questions with a quick kiss, muffling the words. He trailed one hand down over John's shirt covered chest, stopping to circle a finger over a nipple through the fabric. Johns breath stuttered in reply, falling quiet even as the kiss ended.

"I'm ready, really, John. And...and if I want to stop, I'll tell you, promise."

John squirmed on the bed, Sherlock was proving to be very convincing tonight. He reached a hand up and ran his fingers through the still damp hair, rubbing at the base of the ears until he heard Sherlock purring.

"OK, love, but if at any point you want to stop, you must tell me, yeah? I'll never forgive myself if I end up hurting you in any way."

Sherlock mewled happily as his tailed swished in the air. Leaning down, he hugged John hard, pressing his face to the man's neck as he purred loudly, making his entire body vibrate.

John chuckled at the reaction as he moved his hand down from the dark curls to the base of the slim neck, massaging the muscles there. He mouthed over the twitching ears, smiling, it always made him feel incredibly pleased when Sherlock was happy.

After a few minutes of snuggling, Sherlock sat up, straddling John's hips. He tugged at the doctor's shirt, sneaking his hands under the hem, teasing at the man's stomach. With a startled laugh, John tried to back away from the tickling fingers even though he was trapped by Sherlock's legs.

"Shirt, off, John," the order was accompanied by a feigned pout.

"OK! OK! No tickling!" John laughed, struggling to lift up off the bed a bit to get the clothing off.

Sherlock crawled off him, and was happy when John took the chance to kick off his pyjama bottoms and pants too. They moved a bit further onto the bed, away from the edge before Sherlock laid himself down on his back, spreading open his long, slim legs invitingly.

John watched as he felt the room suddenly become warmer than he remembered, his eyes raking over the body presented to him lustfully. Sherlock really was a gorgeous creature, his skin almost glowing in the dim bedroom light. An idea jumped into John's mind as he saw that Sherlock was already half hard. Well, it was Christmas, they should make this special.

Leaning down, the doctor ran his tongue over Sherlock's lips, dipping it into the welcoming mouth. He reached down and palmed over the hardening cock, feeling it stiffen in his hand. Sherlock moaned as his head fell back, hips automatically rising for more. John kissed along the strong jawline, nuzzling at his ear, nipping at the shell.

"Love, relax, let me take care of you tonight."

Sherlock managed to nod and vaguely felt John reaching for a pillow and slipping it under his hips. The man scooted down and settled himself between the opened legs, bending them at the knee and pressing them up a bit, leaving Sherlock's intimate area fully exposed. A shiver spiralled through the aroused hybrid, feeling John's eyes on him, watching him.

Slowly, the doctor bent down, opening his mouth to press a kiss to the sensitive perineum between Sherlock's testicles and his puckered opening.

A surprised mewl was followed by a heady moan as Sherlock felt John's mouth on him, the lips moving, kissing down, coating the area with saliva.

"J-John?"

The hesitant question was only answered by a swipe of John's tongue, right over the pinkish hole that twitched in response.

"Ah!"

Sherlock jerked as he yelped, head shooting up as his wide eyes stared down at his own body to where John was buried between his legs. The doctor paused and looked up, meeting the surprised gaze.

"Yes? Do you want me to stop?" He asked gently, rubbing his thumb over the ring of muscles.

Sherlock took a gulp of air, trembling, but he slowly shook his head. His legs opened just a bit more for John as he licked his lips.

"Please..."

The older man smiled and brought his head back down, resting his hands on Sherlock's thighs. He peppered soft kisses to the ring, listening to the gasping noises Sherlock made in reply. Gathering some saliva in his mouth, John used his tongue and coated it around the clenched muscles, leaving them wet and glistening.

Sherlock's moans grew in volume as his hands fisted in the pillows by his head, eyes wanting to clench shut but at the same time wanting to see. The sight of John between his legs was unbelievably arousing to him, and knowing what the man was doing made him feel dizzy from lust. Sherlock had had to do this for others before, but no one had ever done it for him, it was unthinkable. He keened as he felt John's tongue probing at his opening, trying to press in. He made himself relax, remembering John's promise to take care of him, and inhaled sharply when the man breached his ring of muscles.

John's thumb rubbed soothingly against the inside of Sherlock's thigh, pushing his tongue in, then pulling it out, only to repeat the actions again and again until he had the hybrid writhing below him. He reached up, wrapping one hand around Sherlock's cock and stroked firmly, earning him a choked gasp as the hips lifted, trying to thrust into his hand. John lifted his head a bit, eyeing the hardened length as a drop of the pre-come dripped down from the head onto the heaving belly.

He kissed the base of the penis, then trailed the sensitive vein up with his tongue until he reached the tip. He took it into his mouth and sucked, tasting the saltiness from the pre-ejaculate just as Sherlock's hands buried themselves in the short blond hair. As John moved his mouth lower, Sherlock's hands gripped tighter. The cock in his mouth muffled his moans as John sucked and licked at the member like a delicious treat.

"O-oh! God...John!"

The whispered words were heated as Sherlock threw his head back. His lips were swollen and red from how hard he had been biting them and it was so hard to breathe when John was doing such deliciously wicked things with his mouth.

"Sherlock, can you get the lube?" John paused his work to ask, smiling to himself at how much Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself.

It took a few seconds and lots of blinking before the brunet realized that the doctor had asked him something. Hastily, he flung an arm out towards the beside table where they kept their bedroom goods. Tugging the drawer open, he felt around until his fingers latched around the bottle and he hurriedly handed it to the doctor.

John squeezed out more than enough of the thick liquid onto his fingers, wanting to make sure Sherlock's well prepared. He reached down and started circling the reddened opening with his fingers, spreading the lube around.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, love, are you ready?"

Without any hesitation, Sherlock nodded. He was ready, more than ready, he needed this with an aching urgency.

"Y-yes, please...please.."

John kept working at Sherlock's cock with one hand as the other gently slipped one finger inside. With so much lubrication it went in easily, and immediately Sherlock's body pulled him in deeper. It was tight and hot inside, and John was suddenly flooded by a desire to bury himself inside that delicious heat.

It wasn't long before Sherlock was whining with impatience and John decided to try another finger. This time the stretch was more evident and Sherlock tensed, causing the older man to immediately stop.

"Sherlock? Talk to me, are you OK?"

Taking a shuddering breathe, the curly haired hybrid managed a nod, but he reached down and tried to pull John up so that he could see the man's face easier. The doctor shifted himself, so that he was able to look down into Sherlock's face as he worked. Immediately, shaky arms wrapped around John's neck and he was tugged down into a hungry kiss that he happily returned. Gently, he worked the two fingers in and out as the kiss helped to keep Sherlock's mind occupied.

"John...more...need more..."

The words were whispered between kisses and John was happy to comply as he pulled his fingers out and gently stroked the swollen muscles. He pressed three fingers together and carefully pressed them in, almost holding his breath as he watched Sherlock's features closely. Sharp teeth bit down on kiss swollen lips as Sherlock consciously forced his body to keep breathing and not tense up. He kept his eyes open and on John, seeing the care and love in the man's eyes. He arched his back and slowly pressed himself down, taking the fingers into himself as John bent his head and kissed at the side of his neck.

"Ooh! John, ready...ready, please!"

Swallowing hard as his throat suddenly seemed dry, the doctor pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the bed sheet hurriedly. He hesitated for a moment then wrapped his around Sherlock tightly, flipping them over with one quick move. A startled cry fell from Sherlock as he suddenly found himself on top, with John pulling at his legs to straddle him.

"J-John?" Uncertainty tinted the name as he looked down at his owner.

"Let's do it this way today, love. It'll give you more control to do whatever you're comfortable with."

A sudden warmth flooded through Sherlock as he realized John was trying to still let him be in control even while being the one to be penetrated. He pressed his hands to John's chest, bending down to kiss him softly.

"Thank you."

They shared a smile before Sherlock took the bottle of lube and spread some liberally over John's cock, taking the time to give the doctor a few steady strokes until John started squirming under him. With a little smirk of satisfaction, Sherlock shuffled himself into position as John slipped his hands around the trembling hips, helping to guide him. Slowly, the slender legs lowered the tall hybrid down, his head falling back with a heated gasp as he felt John entering him. John tightened his grip on Sherlock, making sure to have a solid hold on him should he slip or his legs give out.

Both of them let out a sigh of relief as the hardened length settled fully into Sherlock's heat. John reached up and brushed back a stray curl as the brunet tried to focus on breathing. Trying to soothe his hybrid, the doctor ran his hands over the pale skin, down his arms, along his side, down the powerful thighs until he had Sherlock shivering and trembling.

"OK?" The doctor asked, experimentally rolling his hips up just a bit.

Sherlock groaned as he almost fell forward, hurriedly clinging to John's shoulders to steady himself.

"O-Ook..," he managed to utter as he tried to lift himself up.

Taking a deep breath, the large hands readjusted themselves on John's chest as the slender hips raised. John watched with hazy eyes as Sherlock moved until only the head of his cock was still inside. For a second everything seemed to stop as their eyes met, then Sherlock slid himself back down, growling in his throat as he was suddenly filled once more.

John's hips bucked at the heat as much as he tried to keep still. Sherlock quickly found a pace he liked and started to earnestly fuck himself on John's cock, plunging down on the hard length over and over. John's bundle of worry melted away as he watched his enthusiastic lover lose himself and he started thrusting up to meet Sherlock's movements.

Their moans and gasps filled the room as the smell of sex permeated the air. Sherlock's tail thrashed about, ears pressed to his head, quivering from pleasure. John settled a hand on the trim waist to steady his lover as the other hand reached up, pulling him down for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. Their tongues danced together, licking, rubbing, teasing as their breaths mingled.

"God...Sh-Sherlock...fuck...so...close...," John gasped out, feeling himself edging towards orgasm with each move of Sherlock's hips.

He was only answered with a sharp nip to his lip as Sherlock quickened his pace. Sharp nails clung to John, digging into his flesh and leaving imprints. Moving the hand on Sherlock's waist down, John grabbed his lover's cock, forming a tight grip with his fist for the lustful hybrid to thrust into. He ran his thumb over the slit, spreading the pre-come all over as Sherlock's movements staggered, shaken off pace by the sudden added pleasure.

"J..John!"

The name was mewled out in desperation as Sherlock felt the coil of heat in his belly clench in preparation to explode. John pushed his hips up hard as his hand worked over the sensitive cock.

Sherlock was more or less hunched down on John by now, kissing wherever he can reach as his hips moved up and down. The doctor tangled one hand into the messy curls, rubbing gently at the base of the furry ears, noting how they were trembling.

It seemed that that was the last straw for Sherlock as suddenly, his body clenched tight around John, his mouth opening in a guttural moan of pure pleasure. His muscles stiffened as his back arched, pressing his chest against John who felt a sticky liquid coat over the hand he had on Sherlock's cock.

John milked him through the orgasm, slowing his movements as he knows Sherlock was bound to be extra sensitive following his climax, but was surprised when he felt the exhausted hybrid wiggling about on top of him.

"John...John...move...please...w-want you to come inside..."

The words sent a wave of heat through the doctor as he pulled back a bit to try and see Sherlock's face. He was met with flushed cheeks, reddened lips and blurry eyes that looked so pleadingly at him that he couldn't bear to refuse. Taking a deep breath, John tightened his arm around Sherlock and rolled them over once more, allowing the spent hybrid to relax back into the bed.

"Bear with me, love," he manages to choke out as he gathered his thoughts and pushed into Sherlock once more.

He heard a soft whimper and looked down in concern, only to see a satisfied smile over Sherlock's face. Long, slender fingers trailed down his chest and playfully rubbed at John's nipples before giving them a light squeeze.

It only took a few more thrusts before John found himself tumbling headlong into blinding pleasure. His groin grinded against Sherlock's rear as he pressed in as far as he could go, spilling his come deep inside. His head dropped, pressing into Sherlock's shoulder as his body shook from the force of the orgasm, vaguely feeling soothing hands trailing over his back.

It took barely a minute, but it felt like hours before John felt his senses coming back to him. When he opened his eyes again, he found that he had draped himself over Sherlock, who was holding him tightly while littering kisses in his hair.

"Ooh...god...Sherlock...that was...," he found his throat was dry and the words had a hard time coming out between his panting breaths.

Sherlock answered him with a little happy 'hm', trailing a finger down his arm then back up again.

"Amazing? Wonderful? Perfect? A lovely Christmas present?"

John chuckled at the cheekiness in Sherlock's voice but tilted his head to kiss the soft lips.

"Yes, all of those."

They stayed like that for a while until Sherlock started squirming. With a little effort, John pushed himself up, carefully sliding his softened member out so that he could flop down beside Sherlock on the bed. They could probably use a shower, but John was in no hurry to move at the moment. Sherlock reached for the bedside table's drawer once more, pulling out the pack of wet tissues they kept in there to clean up the come on John's hand and both of their stomachs.

"You feel all right, Sherlock?" The doctor asked as he turned onto his side, watching as Sherlock crumpled up the used tissues, took aim, and tossed them into the waste basket.

The long limbs stretched before Sherlock curled up beside John, purring loudly.

"All right hardly describes what I'm feeling now."

John laughed as he pulled the purring hybrid into his arm, giving him a tight squeeze.

Silence fell over the room for a while, the only sound being the rumbling purr coming from Sherlock. Both were tired and knew they should get some sleep as they had a busy day tomorrow, but both were reluctant to sleep, wanting to enjoy each other's company just a little longer.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was quiet and low, hesitant to break the calm that had settled over them.

"Hm?"

"Do you ever feel scared from being too happy? I mean...you're so happy and everything's so perfect that you're sure something bad is going to happen."

John pulled his head back a bit to look down. Sherlock was clinging to him, tucked neatly under his chin.

"Sometimes, yeah. But then I realize, worrying wouldn't be much help, would it? And I'm certainly not going to go seek misery just because I fear happiness."

He kissed the top of the curly haired head, smiling as the ears flicked gently against his cheeks.

"Do you worry about that?"

He felt Sherlock nod and press closer, his tail also coming around to wrap around John.

"I can't help it. I'm...afraid. Everything I have, all my happiness, it's all because of you, John. What if...what if you don't want me anymore? What would I do?"

The doctor shook his head firmly and hugged Sherlock so hard it almost squeezed the breath out of the brunet.

"Sherlock, I'll never not want you, I'll never toss you aside."

John used his hand to nudge at Sherlock's chin, urging him to turn his head up. In the bedroom light, the usually sky-blue eyes seemed black, the pupils large and vulnerable as Sherlock gazed up. He looked so worried, fearful, that John couldn't help kissing his forehead in an attempt to offer some comfort.

"I love you, Sherlock. More than anyone else I've ever met or will meet, more than I thought I was capable of, I love you."

For a second, all Sherlock could do was blink as his mind seemed incapable of processing the words. John...loved him? John love him. JOHN loved HIM? It was the first time anyone had spoken those words to him in any capacity and Sherlock felt his mouth falling open, trying to form words but not being able to force anything out.

John smiled, slightly amused as he watched Sherlock's reaction. He bent down and kissed the open mouth, letting Sherlock take his time.

"Yes, I love you, Sherlock Holmes. So put your fears to rest, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be here, always, for you."

Unshed tears suddenly flooded Sherlock's eyes as he latched onto John, burying his face against the man.

All his life he had been told he was worth only as much as money can buy.  
All his life he was made to believe he was meant for servitude because he was somehow inferior to humans.  
All his life he had believed he was meant to be used, then tossed away at his owner's pleasure.

Yet here was John showing him the opposite of everything he had ever known.

He couldn't stop as the salty droplets escaped, his body shaking as he sobbed against John, who held him tightly, whispering those lovely words over and over again until all his doubts vanished. John loved him. John Watson love him, Sherlock Holmes, and he promised to always be here. He was Sherlock's, and only Sherlock's.

John felt the slender body trembling against him, the tears soaking the skin on his neck. He kept holding on, knowing that every word he spoke was true, and he meant every one of them. He will be here for Sherlock for whatever he needs, whenever he needs it - a friend to hug and talk to, a shoulder to cry on, a partner at a crime scene, a lover to kiss and make love to. It hurt him to see Sherlock in pain, it thrilled him to see Sherlock happy, he wanted to protect him, treasure him, give him everything he could want and more, and John was never more sure that he could easily spend the rest of his life happily so long as he had Sherlock with him. So he waited patiently, running his hands down the quivering back, carding his fingers through the soft curls, rubbing gently at the shaking ears, pressing endless kisses wherever he could.

As the sobs calmed into an occasional hiccup, Sherlock loosened his tight hold on John so he could breathe without being suffocated. He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes, trying to pull himself together before facing John.

The doctor reached out and took some tissues from the bedside table, using them to help Sherlock clean up a bit. Feeling embarrassed after the display, Sherlock looked up shyly at John, his lashes still wet from tears. He was met with a smile that drew an answering tilt from his own lips.

"I love you too, John. A lot."

The smile on the older man's face grew until his eyes were practically twinkling.

"Oh? More than cheesecake?"

Sherlock let out a surprised laugh at the unexpected question, but he nodded all the same.

"Yes, much more than cheesecake."

"More than running around crime scenes and chasing after criminals?"

"Yes, more than running around crime scenes and chasing after criminals."

"More than Mrs. Hudson's biscuits?"

With a teasing grin, Sherlock pretended to pause and think.

"Well...I'm not sure...she does make awfully delicious biscuits."

John gave him a look of exaggerated hurt and offence before bopping him gently on the nose.

"Hm, I shall have to steal her recipe then to be sure that I can secure your affections for all eternity."

Sherlock fell into a fit of laughter which John joined, the mood lightening as they returned to cuddling. By the time they fell asleep, it was already the early hours of Christmas Day but neither cared that Santa hadn't seemed to come. They had both already gotten the best Christmas present they could ever have hoped for.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 32 END** _

Someone mentioned that neither John nor Sherlock had actually said 'I love you' to the other yet after 30+ chapters, that was deliberate.  I find that phrase tossed around so much it almost makes me cringe whenever I hear it these days, so before I had our boys utter those little words I wanted to show how much they care about each other through their actions (which apparently took me 30+ chapters OTL).  Hope I wrote it OK  ^^;;

Anyway, thanks for all the welcome backs and hope you enjoyed the smut!!


	33. The Christmas Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock host their first Christmas dinner with Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade as guests.   
> (Complete fluffiness. So much fluff it would put cotton candy to shame. Take a map and compass on your way in so you don't lose your way in the fluffiness.)

Christmas Day looked like something on a postcard. A new layer of snow covered everything as the rising sun glittered off the white surfaces. It was quieter out than usual, most people having gone home to spend the day with family and in many households children raced through the house dashing for their presents that Santa had left.

At 221B Baker Street, the day started much slower. John woke to the smell of something delicious, and the sounds coming from the kitchen alerted him that his lover was already up and working away. He yawned and stretched, remembering the events of the previous night with a smile before he flipped the covers over and swung his legs off the bed, searching around for his slippers.

Sherlock's sharp ears picked up on the sounds from the bedroom and he put the last finishing touches on breakfast. He set the tea cups and a freshly brewed pot on the table, along with a tiered tray that had some macaroons on the top, scones in the centre along with some clotted cream and jam, and fresh toast on the bottom with butter. He had discovered the tray shoved way back in one of the cupboards, clearly not something John used often, but since it was Christmas Sherlock had pulled it out and cleaned it, using it to add a bit of flair to their breakfast.

John stepped in wrapping his night robe around himself as he immediately walked over to Sherlock, sliding his arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug.

"Morning, although technically it's almost noon," Sherlock told him with a fond smile.

"Morning. Merry Christmas to you too," John sniped back, landing a kiss to the soft lips.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and pushed him towards the bathroom.

"No kisses until you brush your teeth."

John laughed even as he placed a hand over his heart as if Sherlock had mortally wounded him with his words.

"What? You'd deny me my morning kiss over something so trivial?"

Sherlock gave him a playful swat on his rear as he rolled his eyes.

"No brushing, no kiss."

With an exaggerated sniff, John dramatically turned and marched for the bathroom, head held high.

"Oh fine, if his highness commands, then brushing it shall be."

As the water in the bathroom turned on, Sherlock laughed to himself and shook his head. Never would he have dared to talk back to his owners before, not even in jest, but now with John it all felt wonderfully natural. It put him at ease that he can say what he wanted without worry about punishments, and because of that, he spoke more than he ever did before.

He turned and opened the refrigerator, mentally going over the things he needed to cook for tonight. Oven roasted turkey with stuffing and gravy, ham, cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, boiled vegetables, minced pie, and Christmas pudding for dessert. The turkey had thawed overnight, and he had made the stuffing last night too, so now it was already all inside the bird which he had seasoned, wrapped in foil and was basically ready to be placed in the oven, as were the potatoes. Mrs. Hudson had said she'll bring the Christmas pudding for them, so they didn't need to make that. Molly and Lestrade will be bringing wine and punch for drinks so that was also taken care of. Sherlock hum'ed to himself, satisfied that everything was going according to schedule.

When John emerged from the bathroom, he stepped over to Sherlock, opened his mouth wide and huffed out a mouthful of air.

"Is that to your highness' satisfaction?" The doctor asked with a smirk.

Sherlock answered him with an open mouth kiss, taking the chance to swipe his tongue into the wet cavern for a thorough examination. He pulled back with a happy purr, smiling smugly.

"Hm, much better."

They sat down at the table and Sherlock poured the tea as John eyed over the display.

"Where in the world did you find this? It looks more suited for some fancy tea party than in our little flat here."

"It was in one of the cupboards, didn't you buy it?"

John looked at him, then back to the tray, trying to think. He had no recollection of ever purchasing such an item and finally gave up with a shrug.

"Guess I must have forgot."

He reached for one of the scones, spreading some jam and cream on it. It was still warm from the oven and when he bit into it John couldn't help his eyes closing in delight from the taste.

"Oh that's good...my god Sherlock that tastes amazing. We should just serve this for dinner."

Sherlock nibbled on a piece of buttered toast as he drank his tea, raising an eyebrow at John.

"I think they'll be expecting a little more variety than just scones."

"Well, there's the Christmas pudding from Mrs. Hudson."

"Scones and Christmas pudding...a dinner fit for a king indeed."

They laughed as they continued their meal, sometimes feeding each other bits of the food.

Sherlock put the turkey in the oven around noon, setting the timer. He had pots, pans, plates and bowls littering all over the counters, the ingredients he needed all set up neatly to one side.

John watched as he nibbled on a macaroon, noting that Sherlock seemed to have some system set up that only he knew. Even the order he put the dishes into the sink seemed thought out so that it wasn't just a giant pile but neatly stacked.

"You're slightly OCD, aren't you?"

He got a pout in reply.

"No, I just like things to be orderly."

"When it comes to cooking anyway," John laughed, remembering how Sherlock had no problems leaving a trail of clothing on the floor when he went into the bathroom for a bath or tossing papers all over when he was in the midst of researching something.

The rest of the day was spent in the kitchen with much washing, cutting, stirring, a bit of cursing, and stolen kisses whenever they got the chance.

Around four, they heard footsteps on the stairs and Mrs. Hudson's head peaked around the doorway.

“Boys? You in?”

“The kitchen, Mrs. Hudson!” John called out to her, wiping his hands dry on a dishtowel.

“Oh doesn't everything look wonderful,” she exclaimed as she appeared holding the promised Christmas dessert.

She glanced over at Sherlock and couldn't help laughing at the sight he made. The usually shining brown hair had spots of white in it, and he had smudges of it over his face too, even his tail hadn't escaped whatever happened.

“We uh...had an accident with the flour,” John informed her sheepishly, snickering as he and Sherlock shared a look.

“It's not an 'accident' when you purposely try to dump a bagful on me,” the busy hybrid grouched, swatting at his ear and sending a puff of the white powder flying into the air.

“It wasn't on purpose, my hand slipped!” John protested, although the smirk on his face indicated he was far from feeling apologetic for the incident.

Sherlock only glared back with a soft growl as Mrs. Hudson tried muffling her giggles behind her hand.

The three bustled about getting the final touches of dinner ready. Around half past four, John shoo'ed Sherlock off to take a shower before Lestrade and Molly arrived. Mrs. Hudson set everything on the table, as John set to washing out the pots and pans, knowing they'll need the sink after for all the plates and cutlery.

“He's come a long way,” the elderly woman mused to herself fondly, setting each place at the table.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about Sherlock. I remember when you first brought him back here, his expression the first time I saw him was so...blank. There was nothing. And now look at him, so full of life.”

John smiled and nodded, “I was afraid that he wouldn't ever escape from that hybrid conditioning he received. You hear about how much the environment we grow up in imprints on us, how kids in abusive households never really recover from that because certain biological damages are already done by a certain age...”

“Yes, the old nature versus nurture debate. Oh I've heard that so many times, and it's always so useless to argue. I mean, what can you do when faced with someone who grew up in unfortunate circumstances? Just give up on them because they're already damaged? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous I tell you,” the landlady gave a huff and tsk tsk'ed.

John finished washing and sat down by the table with a soft sigh.

“I thought I might have been mad when I bought Sherlock. I mean, at my age, with no stable job at the time, suddenly buying a hybrid out of the blue like that. I could hardly keep myself going from day to day back then, and yet there I was being given control over someone else's life. It was insane.”

“Well, they do say that the universe works in mysterious ways. Now you don't mope around your flat through all hours of the day and night anymore, it's a delightful change.”

John felt his face flush as he remembered back to those pre-Sherlock days. Christ, had he been really that bad that even Mrs. Hudson had taken notice?

“Oh but seeing you two together is so adorable,” Mrs. Hudson continued, “Reminds me of when me and Frank first met. It was more of a whirlwind thing for us, though, nothing like what you and Sherlock have.”

The man gave her a questioning look, “What me and Sherlock have?”

“Oh John, you don't have to go hiding it from me. You're both absolutely smitten with each other, Frank never looked at me like that. Oh but we had a thrilling relationship though, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. We couldn't even be in the same room without ending up tearing each other's clothes off...”

John coughed awkwardly as he desperately tried to lay that image to rest forever. Flustered, he got up, almost knocking over the chair as he stumbled for the fridge.

“Uh, d-drink! Would you fancy something to drink?”

“That would be lovely, dear.”

As John got them both glasses, the bedroom door opened and Sherlock strolled out, newly cleaned and dressed. He had chosen the purple shirt that John loved, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows casually. Sharp eyes took one look at the red-faced doctor and their smiling landlady before an eyebrow raised, but he wisely kept quiet about whatever he deduced.

“Everything ready then?” He asked, tail swaying lazily behind him.

Just as Mrs. Hudson was about to reply, the doorbell rang.

“Oh, that must be them. You two stay, I'll go let them in,” the cheerful woman said as she hopped off her seat and went down the stairs.

Taking advantage of the moment of privacy, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him close. Immediately, the curly haired hybrid lowered his head to nuzzle at the side of John's face, his furry ears rubbing against the doctor's cheek.

“It all looks wonderful, Sherlock. You're amazing.”

The praise elicited a soft purr as a light kiss was pressed to John's neck.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

The footsteps and voices grew louder as their guests made their way up. John gave Sherlock's waist a squeeze and laid a kiss into the newly washed curls before he let him go with a smile.

“Sherlock, John! Merry Christmas!” Molly's sweet voice called out as she entered the room, carrying a bagful of presents.

Lestrade followed in after with Mrs. Hudson bringing up the rear. Greetings went around as the two newcomers shed their coats and drinks were poured.

“Oh, Molly, I almost forgot. Sherlock borrowed some things from the lab a few weeks ago to do some experiments, we've got the stuff here if you want to take them back with you,” John told the cheery woman as he handed her a glass of champagne.

“The beakers and such? No worries, they're buying some new equipment for the new year anyway, you can keep them here if Sherlock needs them for other experiments. Speaking of which, they're getting rid of some equipment to make room for the new ones, microscopes and such. If you want to come take a look, I can probably talk my supervisor into giving some to you. Add it under 'Scotland Yard' expenses,” Molly laughed as she clapped Lestrade on the shoulder.

Sherlock's ears twitched with interest as he tugged at John's sleeve eagerly. The doctor smiled at the gleam in his eyes.

“You would think after all the cases he's helped them solve Scotland Yard would be giving him an award by now,” the young pathologist continued, giving the DI a look.

“Hey, we tried! He refused to leave the flat because it was 'dull and unnecessary'. Told me to bring him a triple homicide as an award,” Lestrade protested, giving Sherlock a goodnatured grin.

“Oh you youngsters and your murders, such dreadful business. If you ask me, you should all take up some cheery hobbies. Like painting, oh paintings would be lovely. I used to paint all the time back in the day, and my best friend was a wonderful pianist. We spent such delightful weekends together,” Mrs. Hudson chipped in, nibbling on a biscuit.

“A pianist, eh? John didn't you say you play the clarinet?” Lestrade asked with a tilt of his head.

“Back in high school, yeah. Hardly remember much now.”

“I...I can play the violin,” Sherlock offered.

His cheeks tinged pink as everyone turned to look at him in silence. His ears were tense and his tail flicked nervously. Even though everyone here was people he knew who were friendly, he couldn't help feeling slightly anxious. The circumstances was different than how he usually met them, and he felt like he was on uncertain footing.

“Sherlock? You never mentioned that before,” John exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise.

“It was...um...m-my brother taught me, back when we were children, and my first owner gave me some lessons. She said it made me more 'cultured' to know how to play an instrument. It's been years since I've played, but I still remember.”

“Oh you must show us some time!” Molly told him, sounding intrigued, “I'd love to hear you play!”

Everyone nodded in agreement and Sherlock blushed harder. John's hand settled comfortably at the small of his back, giving him a reassuring pat.

“You're like a magician's box, full of surprises, Sherlock,” the man laughed.

“That makes you the magician then, John?” Lestrade smirked into his drink as the ladies laughed.

“Hardly. I can barely work my way around my computer much less a magic box. All those blasted buttons, and then just as you get used to them, they update to a new version.”

Sherlock hid a smile as he remembered John pecking away at his keyboard with two fingers. It had been incredibly amusing watching him type, and then watching him struggle if the computer did something out of ordinary. More than once he's had to soothe the man and talk him down from throwing the machine out the window in frustration.

“Ugh, I never could understand all the gadgets you youngsters use. Back in my day all we needed was a pen and paper, and no one ever lost their telephone because there was always a cord attached. I can hardly read the little tiny letters on those mobile screens these days, so inconvenient.”

The small talk continued as everyone took their seats around the table. They chatted and ate, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the food. The flat was alive with laughter as the champagne and wine bottles emptied and the food dishes lessened. They shared their holiday plans, with Molly going back home to be with her family for a few days, and Lestrade planning a trip away from the city. Mrs. Hudson was going away too to visit a friend, leaving only John and Sherlock in the building for a few days. By the time dessert came around, everyone was so full that they could hardly eat anymore. They each took a slice of the Christmas pudding and headed into the living where they could relax more.

Sherlock glanced at Molly as she helped him place some empty plates into the sink, noting the way her gaze drifted to Lestrade before she gave herself a little shake and refocused. He smirked to himself, having confirmed something he had long suspected.

As he stepped away from the sink, Sherlock pulled John to the side and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Get Lestrade under the mistletoe in two minutes,” he instructed the doctor, motioning towards the little sprout of green leaves and white berries that they had hung from the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

John gave him a confused look, but nodded, heading into the living room where Lestrade was talking to Mrs. Hudson.

“Don't worry about the dishes, Molly. Leave them,” Sherlock turned back to the young woman, pulling her away from the sink.

“Oh it's no problem, I don't mind.”

“Nonsense. Come with me, I have something to show you,” Sherlock persisted, directing her towards his goal.

Molly blinked with question at him but allowed herself to be maneuvered, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“What? What's going on, John? What is it you want me to see?” Lestrade's voice drifted in.

John and Sherlock gave both their charges a little push as they neared the doorway causing Molly and Lestrade to stumble a few steps, both reaching out on instinct to steady the other and catch themselves. They ended up directly under the mistletoe and looked up to see John and Sherlock smirking proudly to themselves with Mrs. Hudson peering in to see what the commotion was.

“Oh! Mistletoe!” The landlady giggled cheerily, slightly tipsy from the drinks.

“John, I believe you said there's some kind of...ritual one must do when they find themselves under the mistletoe with another person on Christmas?” Sherlock asked cheekily, tail swishing.

“Yes, that is the tradition. And we really shouldn't break tradition,” the man answered with mock sternness.

Molly and Lestrade's faces were bright red as they glared between the two schemers.

“Come on, now. No dessert until you do,” Mrs. Hudson urged, looking far too interested in the scene in front of her.

Lestrade gave a sigh of resignation and glanced shyly at Molly who returned the look. She bit her lip nervously, but Sherlock saw the smile both of them were holding back. Reaching out her hand, Molly grabbed the back of Lestrade's neck and pulled him down, planting a short but firm kiss right on his lips. Giggles exploded from Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock and John smiled smugly. Lestrade seemed in shock as Molly hurried off into the living room, face flushed and hands patting at her own cheeks.

Sherlock walked over and patted the DI on the back.

“Well? You're not really going to just let it end at that, are you?” He asked, voice low so Molly wouldn't hear.

Lestrade cleared his throat and gave himself a little shake before he nodded at Sherlock and John, grinning as he strode over to the sofa where the blushing woman had settled herself, sitting down beside her. A beaming Mrs. Hudson joined the two other tenants of the building in the kitchen to give the new couple some privacy, busying themselves with putting the leftovers in the fridge and cleaning up a bit.

“Well that was lovely, it's so nice to see all you lovebirds together.”

John and Sherlock shared a glance, embarrassed smiles breaking out over their faces. The elderly woman reached over and gently rubbed Sherlock's ears, smiling at him fondly.

“You've been such a blessing in all our lives, dear. Just be careful when you go running around all those crime scenes. You both had me worried sick after that whole business with the fight club.”

Sherlock butted his head up into her hand, letting her pet him. Aside from John, he only allowed Mrs. Hudson to touch him like this because she liked to mother him.

“No worries, Mrs. Hudson, you can't get rid of us that easily. We still haven't gotten your biscuits recipe yet,” John reassured her, pouring out a few glasses of water.

Laughter rang out as the party of three finished cleaning up. Lestrade and Molly entered the kitchen just as they were wiping down the table, Lestrade's arm wrapped snugly around the woman's waist. John and Sherlock gave each other a mental high five at the success of their matchmaking, feeling smug.

It was well past midnight before the guests left 221B, all having eaten and drank too much and taking home enough leftovers to last them several days. Molly and Lestrade bundled up for the coldness outside, promising to call soon when they come back from their holidays, and Mrs. Hudson made her way downstairs back to her own flat with a goodnight to her boys.

John and Sherlock watched from the window as Molly and Lestrade's cab pulled away and drove off into the night. The doctor leaned against his lover, feeling the buzz from the drinks playing fast and loose with his brain. Absently, he nuzzled against Sherlock with a chuckle and grabbed him tightly in a hug.

“John? John I think you're drunk.”

“Nnooonhense,” the doctor slurred, “Fffffine...”

Sherlock laughed quietly as he returned the hug and slowly attempted shuffling them towards the bedroom.

“Come on, bed time.”

“Nnnnooot sleepy, oooh mistletoe. Mistletoe? Mistletoe!!” John's eyes caught onto the plant as they passed through the kitchen doorway, squinting as he tried to see clearly.

“Yes, that's mistletoe John, now come on.”

The doctor stood his ground, stubbornly pulling at Sherlock for a kiss.

“Turdition...tur...dition..'mportant.”

With an exasperated sigh, his lover allowed the kiss, although it was sloppy since John couldn't seem to aim his mouth correctly. Between the kisses, Sherlock tried valiantly to move his lover closer to their bedroom, half carrying him at this point.

After almost falling a few times, and banging into walls and furniture, Sherlock finally managed to complete his task. He practically tossed the older man onto the bed helping him to undress and get into his pajamas before taking care of himself. The whole time, John mumbled to himself, pulling at Sherlock for kisses whenever he got close enough. With a huff of relief, the brunet climbed onto the bed and tugged the man into his arms, feeling him snuggle in close. It was slightly strange since usually John was the one cuddling him, but tonight he seemed in the mood to be cuddled instead. Sherlock pressed a soft kiss into John's hair feeling his muscles relax into the mattress.

“Goodnight, John.”

He got a soft snore in answer as the flat fell quiet.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 33 END** _

Did you get lost in the fluff?  Did I lose any readers to the fluff?

Thank you all for your lovely comments *hugs*, I love reading them and it makes me really eager to write new chapters xD


	34. The Email

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives an email that spells trouble.   
> (Short chapter warning! Does that need a warning? Well here's a warning.)

Sherlock clicked open his email, curling up in his armchair with the laptop settled on his lap. The flat was quiet as his owner still had yet to waken, and he was sure John would be feeling the consequences of his drinking from last night once he does wake up.

Lazily, he scrolled through the messages, opening a few that looked interesting. John had mentioned him on his blog, and some people have started emailing him to ask him for help. Some were trivial matters that were hardly worth his time, a few looked promising, nothing that require urgent attention though. There was an email from Molly thanking him and John for the hosting the dinner and a promise that she will bring them some home made sweets from her parents when she comes back.

The last email on his 'unread' list caught Sherlock's eye. The sender only showed the letter X and the subject read 'Open Me”. Feeling apprehensive, he clicked on the email and waited for it to load, wondering who this can be from. Several photos appeared in the email, and as the images sharpened into focus Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. Half a dozen photos showing an office and a man inside.

John. It was John's office, Sherlock realized. Whoever had taken these photos must have had the camera hidden and posed as a patient to get into the office. Some of the photos showed John talking, others had him writing something on his memo pad, and in one, he was checking something on his computer.

The last photo was different than all the rest. It was taken with what looked like a telephoto lens from a distance away, the camera aimed right through a window. Sherlock felt a shudder as his heart beat sped up, panic rising as he realized it was the window that looked into the living room of 221B Baker Street. The doctor was standing in front of the window, unaware of himself being watched, a tea cup in hand. Sherlock stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, chin resting on John's shoulder as they both gazed out at something in the street below. Whoever sent the photos had drawn a target over John's face with an X in the centre, clearing intending it as a threat.

Sherlock hurriedly scrolled down, trying to see if there was an explanation.

“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Sherlock.”

Nothing else was written, just that single line. Sherlock stared at it, the dread settling in his stomach. Someone had been watching this flat. Someone had gone into John's office and had the opportunity to hurt him, and Sherlock had had no idea. He hurriedly scrolled back up, checking each photo once more, attempting to see any details he can use to give him a clue as to who was responsible. Who sent these photos? Was it the same person who took them? Why? The target drawn over John was clearly meant as a threat, but why? Was whoever only interested in John? But then the message had been directed at him, and the email had been sent to his email address. Should he tell John? Should he alert Lestrade?

The questions swirled around in his mind as the unsettling feeling grew.

A noise down the hall startled him out of his thoughts. John was getting up. On instinct, Sherlock closed the window and shut his laptop. He'll figure out a course of action, but before then he'll keep this to himself.

Putting on a smile, he turned to greet the doctor who stumbled into the living room, hair in disarray, pajamas rumpled, and rubbing his head with a grimace.

“Dear god, what the hell happened last night?”

“Too much drinking apparently. I did try to stop you.”

John grumbled under his breath and flopped down on the sofa, one hand over his eyes.

“It's too bright in here, why is it so bright in here? It shouldn't be so bright in here.”

Shaking his head with a sigh, Sherlock went into the kitchen and got the man a glass of water and some painkillers. He set them down on the coffee table and sat on the sofa beside John's prone body.

“Your senses are overly sensitive, and you're probably a bit dehydrated. Give it a day.”

John made a sulky growl as he took the pills and chugged down the water before sprawling himself over Sherlock's lap.

“I don't think I can last a day. I think I'm dying.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the exaggeration and ran his fingers through the short hair, massaging the scalp lightly.

“Hardly. The painkillers will kick in soon. Just take it easy.”

John gave a noncommittal noise but snuggled his face tighter against Sherlock, nuzzling against the flat tummy.

Sherlock used his tail and gently trailed it over the man's cheek, making him laugh at the soft, tickling feeling despite his current state of misery. He blinked up at his caretaker, wrapping his arms around the slim waist.

“Just so you know, I'm not moving from this spot for the rest of the day.”

He was answered with a grin as Sherlock rubbed his hand down over the doctor's neck, gently pressing at the muscles, relaxing the knots.

“Fine, just don't vomit on me.”

John pulled a face and relaxed back into those lovely fingers working him over.

Sherlock watched as the doctor's eyes closed. His lips thinned as he thought back to the email. Whatever it meant, whoever had sent it, he'll make sure John's safe.

 

**~*~*~*~*~**

John was miserable for the rest of the day, hanging between the balance of headache and nausea. He tried to eat at Sherlock's coaxing, but couldn't keep down much more than a few bites. Never again will he imbibe in so much alcohol he promised himself, hoping that he'll stick to it this time.

Sherlock, for his part, kept quiet for the entire day. When he did speak he kept his voice low, and he made sure the curtains were closed. If John had been more alert, he would have noticed the slim hybrid peaking out through the window every now and then, frowning as his eyes documented everything he could see.

“John...have you had any strange patients come in at work? I mean, anyone who seemed particularly interested in asking you about things at home?”

The doctor looked puzzled and shook his head.

“No, not really. Most of them just want to know about their own conditions.”

“No one's asked about anything outside of your job? Where you live? If you have a hybrid? Nothing?”

The confusion on John's face only increased as his brows furrowed.

“Not that I can recall. Why? What's this about?”

Sherlock shook his head and plastered a smile on his face.

“Nothing, don't worry. Just wondering.”

John gave him an odd look and walked closer, tugging on the waist tie of Sherlock's dressing gown until his arms could reach around the brunet.

“Sherlock, what's on your mind?”

“Nothing, it's really nothing. Random wonderings my brain likes to do, that's all.”

His voice told John that Sherlock wasn't going to be revealing anymore, and the man's brain really wasn't in the mood to weasel information out of the clever hybrid, so he gave up.

“All right, but you know if you need to talk...”

“Yes, I know, John. 'I can always talk to you about anything.'”

Sherlock recited the sentence John had told him many times, leaning his head down on the doctor's shoulder. He will, he'll tell John after he finds out more about that email. At the very least Lestrade can help him trace where it came from once he's back from his holiday.

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 34 END** _

Short chapter, my apologies OTL  Haven't had much time to write since we've been practising for sports day here at my school.  Just wanted to leave this here as a little something to keep the plot moving...

 


	35. The New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock head to The London Eye to spend New Year's together.  
> (Please check the note at bottom to see a photo of the London Eye capsule for a better idea of what the setting looks like.)

New Year's Eve was cold and snowy as John and Sherlock hurried along the streets, eager to get out of the weather. Despite the cold, the two were excited, cheeks red and eyes glittering as they made their way towards the London Eye. The street lights glowed a dull yellow, drowning out the stars above even though it was a clear evening. People milled about, waiting to welcome in the new year with friends and family, laughing and having good time.

By the time they reached the attraction, it was quarter past eleven. Their reservation went from 11:30 to 12:30, allowing them to pass the moment the clock struck twelve midnight inside their capsule, right at the pinnacle of the ride. They sighed as the warmth from inside the building welcomed them, driving away the chill from the outside. Sherlock shook his head and flicked his ears, trying to rid himself of any snow that had settled in his hair.

“Hello there, may I help you?” A friendly voice called out as a sharply dressed young man appeared.

“Yes, we have a reservation for two, under Watson. John Watson.”

The man stepped around a reception desk and clicked a few keys on his computer.

“Ah, yes. For the midnight ride,” he looked up and gave them a smile, “ This way please, your capsule will be arriving shortly.”

They were led through the building and then outside once more where the loading area was. In front of them were a few other people also waiting for their capsules.

“Our staff has been preparing all the capsules for the midnight ride. Please help yourselves to any of the drinks and food inside the capsule. There is an emergency button on the inside, beside the door, that you can use to communicate with any of our staff on the ground at any time. At midnight the fireworks will start to ring in the new year. You will return to the loading dock around 12:30. I hope you enjoy your ride,” the young man explained as he ushered John and Sherlock into line.

A capsule entered the loading area just as he finished talking and they watched as a few staff members exited, having finished setting up. A woman at the front of the line, also staff going by the name tag on her suit, gestured for the family next in line to enter. Two young boys laughed and raced inside as the mother and father followed, smiling at each other. The woman closed the door to the capsule as it slowly moved forward and lifted up off the ground to begin its journey.

John felt a hand slip into his and he glanced over at Sherlock whose ears twitched in excitement. He chuckled to himself and squeezed the hand in his gently.

After waiting a few more minutes, their turn came. Sherlock looked eagerly at the glass capsule that descended into the loading area, eyes bright and smiling. Like the capsules before, a team of staff exited once the door opened and the woman motioned for them to get in.

“Enjoy your ride,” she offered with a charming smile as she closed the door and sent them on their way.

Inside, a deep red table cloth had been draped over the low table in the centre. On it were placed two champagne glasses along with several ice buckets holding bottles of champagne and other drinks as well. Plates of snacks were set on one side of the table, while sweets took up the other side. To complement the atmosphere, they had lowered the lights inside the capsule just enough for them to see but not too brightly as to spoil the mood. On the floor beside the table were cushions and bean bag chairs so they can sit comfortable and eat at the table.

Sherlock mewled as he shed his coat and scarf, draping them over a bean bag, before running to the glass that encased the capsule, pressing up against it to look outside. His tail waved happily behind him as they were lifted slowly up into the air.

John, having removed his coat and gloves too, came up beside him, wrapping an arm around the excited hybrid's waist. For a few minutes neither of them said a word, simply watching as the city below them grew farther away.

They sat themselves down by the table, munching on some snacks as the stars seemed to get closer and closer. Sherlock curiously plucked a few chocolates from their plates, sniffing before he put them in his mouth.

“Hm...almond. That tastes good. And this one...this one's cherry, ooh, sweet. Ugh...too sweet,” his expression made John laugh as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against Sherlock's, swiping his tongue into the chocolate-tasting mouth.

“Tastes perfect to me.”

Sherlock pressed himself against John's side. The lights from the city below dimmed as they got higher up and the view of the sprawling city unravelled under them. Sherlock's eyes caught onto various landmarks as his mind mentally mapped out the city streets.

Last year for new years, he had been in the midst of a flood of alcohol with pounding music and despicable company, wishing he won't wake up New Year's Day. This year he's enjoying a quiet night with a man he had fallen so utterly in love with. Sherlock was glad he had woken up New Year's Day, he was glad Sebastian had bet him in that poker game, and he was endlessly glad that he had lost.

Shyly, the darkened blue eyes peeked over at John, who had one arm around Sherlock and the other propped up behind himself. He was looking up through the glass as the stars seemed to materialize on the black canvas above them. Suddenly, they heard a sound below them and within a few seconds, an explosion of lights suspended in the air before disappearing once more.

Sherlock made a curious mewl as he hopped up and ran to one side of the capsule to see better. Another small explosion and more lights, this time in a multitude of colours.

“Fireworks! The fireworks have started!” His tail flailed about behind him excitedly, matching the eagerness in his voice.

John got up and followed, far more amused by his lover than the display outside. As Sherlock bounded about, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the various types that were released into the air, John brought out his phone and snapped several photos. Sherlock with his face pressed to the glass, Sherlock as he waved John over, eyes bright, and just for fun, he pulled the energetic hybrid down for a full on kiss to the lips as he held the phone out and snapped a picture of the two of them.

The noise of the fireworks were a bit startling for Sherlock's ears, but the beautiful sparks that followed more than made up for that. He settled himself against John, body trembling with energy as he watched, eagerly anticipating the next one.

As Big Ben rang in the new year, far below, they heard the vague, muffled sounds of people shouting and music being played. Smiling, the doctor pulled Sherlock in and pressed their lips together, cupping the back of his head with one hand as the other gripped the back of his shirt. Sherlock's surprised mewl was muffled but he quickly returned the kiss happily, turning himself to lean back against the glass so he can pull John closer.

They missed the ending of the fireworks show but neither party minded as they passed the first half hour of the new year wrapped in each other's arms, stealing kisses and enjoying each other's company.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 35 END** _

FLUFF!! FLUFF!! ALL THE FLUFFS!!! (Before I drop you guys into the angst pit...)

Just a note, I'm pretty sure the London Eye attraction is actually closed on New Year's Eve, but for the purpose of this story I made up the romantic setting for the boys :D

Here's a picture of a London Eye Capsule to give you an idea;

If you want to see more, I recommend this video (or [Google image](https://www.google.co.jp/search?safe=off&hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1517&bih=666&q=London+Eye+capsule&oq=London+Eye+capsule&gs_l=img.3..0l2j0i5j0i24l6.570.3336.0.3981.20.16.1.0.0.0.263.2283.0j7j5.12.0....0...1ac.1.53.img..7.13.2285.x22iV9aveSU));  
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXM9pCXkq8I>

 

 **EDIT:** Thank you to [bakerstreetgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetgirl) for correcting me about the fireworks.  I had them starting before midnight but was informed that actually fireworks in London start right at midnight for new year :D


	36. The Scandal Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A past case comes back and scandalizes the entire NSY, pulling Sherlock and John right into the centre of the media's attention.

Sherlock stared at his email inbox, glaring at the screen. That email, that one email that caused the unsettling flutter in his stomach, he loathed it. Nothing had happened so far, and the new year had started without incident, but he couldn't put to rest the feeling of unease. John's work had started again and it left him with a lot more free time to worry over it, and he didn't like it one bit. Lestrade had tried to help him trace the message, but it had come from a blocked proxy. To dig any deeper would have involved warrants and permission from the higher ups in NSY and without much evidence they didn't have much hope of obtaining said permission.

He glowered as he scanned the photos once more, hoping that maybe this time he will see something to give away the person who took the photo. A reflection, a mark somewhere, a finger, something.

The sudden beeping of his mobile jolted him upright. Picking it up, he brought it to his ear absently, still scrolling through the pictures.

“Sherlock speaking.”

“Sherlock, Lestrade here. Turn on your TV, local news station. Now.”

The seriousness in the DI's voice immediately alerted Sherlock that something had gone awry. Hurrying for the remote control, he turned on the news and stared at his face plastered on the screen. To be exact, it was two photos of his face. The first one had him standing beside Lestrade and Donovan, looking downwards at something, hat and coat in place. The second photo was him with John, walking along a street engaged in some conversation. He didn't have any form of disguise on in the second photo, and put side-by-side it was obvious the two were of the same hybrid.

With a sinking feeling, he turned up the volume to listen.

“ _...received from an inside source that the New Scotland Yard has been receiving help from an outside hybrid. Late last year, this hybrid and an unknown male, believed to be his owner, were involved in the serial hybrid killings that led to an investigation by NSY into a fight club that the NSY subsequently shut down._ ”

The screen changed to show a series of photos of the fight clubs that John and Sherlock had infiltrated.

“ _At the time, it was believed that both, this unknown hybrid and his owner were victims, however, our network has received video proof that this hybrid was engaged in a fight with another hybrid and consequently killed him._ ”

The images on the screen faded and a video replaced them. Immediately, Sherlock recognized the ring in which he had been forced to fight Dim. There was no audio, but the image was clear enough to show him on Dim's back, clawing and biting. The video was zoomed in on the two fighters and aside from the two hybrids entangled in their struggles no other person appeared on the screen.

The last bit of the video showed Dim's bloody body, torn and unmoving. He had been discovered by Scotland Yard by a river, and with all the injuries plus decomposition it was hard to tell exactly what had killed him from the video footage alone. Sherlock had no doubt most people will believe the news that he died from the fight alone if they were not shone evidence of the bullet he knew Moriarty used to end the other hybrid's life.

“ _Scotland Yard has, thus far, refused to comment on the fact that they have not only enabled an outside hybrid to aid them on cases, but a criminal hybrid. They have also refrained from naming this hybrid along with his owner. We will keep you updated on any further developments we receive._ ”

“Sherlock?! SHERLOCK!”

The voice from the phone bellowed as Lestrade tried to get his attention once more.

“Sherlock, you need to get down to Scotland Yard right now. Come in disguise, use the back door. The front is filled with reporters. Get into my office and wait for me ASAP.”

The brunet nodded before he realized Lestrade couldn't hear him and uttered an affirmative.

“Yes...I'll be there in twenty.”

Quick as he can, Sherlock got himself ready for the trip, shoving his hair under the hat as best as he can and even putting on a pair of John's sunglasses to hid his face. He jotted down a note to John explaining the situation and raced out the door for a cab.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Lestrade hadn't been joking about the reporters. As the cab drove around the building to go to the back Sherlock eyed the crowd of media vans and microphones. It looked like Scotland Yard had barricaded their door to keep the reports out but they had decided to camp out in front of the building instead.

Paying the driver, Sherlock hurried to the back door and discretely let himself in using the code the DI had given him before. He tried to keep out of view of most of the officers, sticking to the walls and shadows until he reached Lestrade's office. The DI was inside already, pacing around with the phone to his ear.

“No, Leroy! I told you, don't tell them anything! Whatever you say they'll twist the words and make us out to be the bad guys. You know how much those reporters love a police scandal! Just keep quiet and we'll release an official statement once everything's settled.”

The phone was slammed down as the DI slumped down in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Good grief. I've been on the phone all day because of this. For chrissakes, who leaked this information? Where the hell did they get the pictures and video?!”

“You've got a leak,” Sherlock told him calmly, fingering open two of the blinds and scanning the desks where the other cops worked.

“A leak?! But why? Why now?! What good does this do to anyone?”

Sherlock's mind raced as he tried to think. He had a good idea who was behind it, after all only one person had escaped that night.

“Moriarty. The one who ran the fight clubs and was in charge of the whole operation, you never caught him did you?”

Lestrade paused, “No...no we didn't. He disappeared off the grid. We thought he might have escaped out of the country.”

“Unlikely. He's coming after me.”

“OK...but why? Revenge for ruining his operation?”

“Hardly. From what I know about him he's unlikely to be so attached to something so...trivial.”

“From what you know? What DO you know about him, Sherlock? Are you withholding information from me?”

Here, Sherlock stopped and bit down on his tongue. He can't bring Mycroft into this, but not telling Lestrade what he knows about Moriarty can seriously impede his ability to get them out of this mess.

“I...I have some information that he's more than just a common criminal. I can't tell you much more, you'll have to trust me on this. He's the mastermind, the one pulling the strings, and he's operating on a far larger scale than simply London or even the UK.”

The DI stared at him wide-eyed with disbelief until his phone rang again and he picked up, still gaping at Sherlock.

“Lestrade.”

Sherlock tuned him out as he looked over at the TV Lestrade had in his office. It was on mute, but the news was running and the captions below relayed to him what was being said.

“I-I'm sorry sir, no, I never said...yes...but sir! I'm sure I've mentioned Sherlock to you...well, no, but John's his owner! But he was never officially on our payroll, sir! Yes...I understand, yes, I'll handle it. No, no I guarantee that neither John or Sherlock are criminals sir, that is a lie! I don't know where they got the video, but we will release the forensics report concluding that that hybrid was NOT killed by Sherlock. Yes, I'm positive we have that report, sir. Yes, I already have someone getting it, I'll release it immediately.”

Lestrade put down the phone with an exhausted sigh just as someone knocked on the door to the office.

“Busy!”

“Greg, it's me. Need to talk to you!”

Sherlock bristled at the sound of Sally's voice and moved further into the room to get away from the door. The woman walked in holding a file, and for once she didn't pay Sherlock any mind.

“We've got a problem boss.”

The strangled groan from Lestrade sounded like someone who was drowning as he looked pitifully at Donovan.

“What is it now? Building's on fire?”

“No, worse. I went to get that file on the hybrid Sherlock fought as you told me to...”

Silence as the two men waited for her to continue. Sally took a deep breath and held out the file in her hand.

“Someone must have tampered with it, it states that that hybrid died from the wounds sustained in the fight.”

Sherlock felt his heart drop at the words as he stared at the file. No...it can't be. How can that be? He knew he hadn't killed Dim, Moriarty had done that. Moriarty had shot Dim.

Lestrade practically flew over the desk as he grabbed the file from Sally and flipped it open. Sherlock peered over his shoulder and read the conclusion made by the coroner. Under “cause of death” there was a list of all the injuries Dim had sustained, but nowhere did it mention a bullet wound.

“FUCK!! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!” The expletives exploded from Lestrade as he slammed the file onto his desk.

“An exhumation, exhume the body,” Sherlock's tightly controlled voice pierced through the air, “Exhume the body and we can prove he was shot.”

“Brilliant,” Donovan told him sarcastically as if he was idiotic to think she hadn't thought of it too, “Except he had been cremated. I don't know who authorized that, but the method of body disposal was cremation. Whatever evidence there was, it's all gone now.”

Sherlock's eyes turned to her and stared, a feeling of panic welling up inside him. The body's gone, and with it all the evidence to prove Sherlock hadn't killed Dim. If he gets pinned for this murder, it would taint all the Scotland Yard cases he had been involved in. On top of that, a killer hybrid gets put down. Worse, if they somehow pull John into this...

A lump formed in Sherlock's throat as the idea floated into his head. If they find out John and Sherlock weren't only owner and pet, but more...it wasn't illegal, but it would ram the doctor's reputation into the wall. Not to mention the media knew John was captured at the fight club with him, so if rumour somehow started that John had a hand in the killing...

A sudden hand clasped down on Sherlock's shoulder and he jumped, spinning around. Lestrade and Sally were watching him, concerned, although there was a trace of impatience in Sally's face.

“Sherlock? Hey, Sherlock, we'll figure this out, don't you worry. We know you didn't kill anyone, alright?”

Before anyone could say anything more, they heard shouting outside the office followed by footsteps. Quickly, Lestrade yanked open the door and peered out where a group of officers had pinned someone to the wall.

“Let me through, dammit! I need to see Lestrade!”

“Sir, you need to calm down. Are you on any kind of drugs sir?”

Sherlock's ears pricked up at the first voice, immediately recognizing it and he tried to push past Sally and the DI to get to John. Donovan hurriedly grabbed his arm as Lestrade pushed him back into the room, closing the door.

“Let him go! He's fine! I called him in to see me!”

With some hesitation, the doctor was released. He glared about and straightened himself before storming over to Greg.

“Where is he? All I got was a note telling me he's down at Scotland Yard and to go through the back door. What the fuck is going on, Greg?”

The DI sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as he motioned for John to follow him into his office. Spotting Sherlock, John immediately went to his side and hugged him tightly. He frowned when he felt the brunet trembling and clinging to him.

Without letting go, John scanned his eyes over to Lestrade and Sally, lips set in a tight, thin line.

“Explain. What the hell is happening?”

The DI held up his hands as if to placate the agitated doctor and made a sweeping motion over the files on his desk along with the TV beside it.

“Someone, Sherlock thinks Moriarty, sent photos of the fight club case to the media. They also sent a video of the fight Sherlock was forced into against that one hybrid, Dim. They're claiming that Dim died from the fight with Sherlock, instead of a bullet wound.”

“OK. But you KNOW that's not true.”

“Yes, we do. But to prove that we need evidence, and unfortunately, as we just found out, someone tampered with Dim's autopsy report. It reads that his cause of death was the wounds from the fight...and his body's already been cremated, so we can't do a second autopsy.”

Everyone fell quiet as they absorbed the information. Sherlock kept himself beside John, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him. If only he hadn't pleaded with John to let him take that damn case.

“So...basically what you're saying is they're accusing Sherlock of murder and we've got nothing to prove them wrong, yeah?”

Sally and Lestrade shared a look before the DI nodded, eyes trailing to his desk.

“And if he gets convicted of murder...”

“It's the death penalty,” Sally finished for him, “Not to mention every criminal we've put behind bars with his help will appeal their case. I mean, a non-authorized hybrid helping the police is bad enough, a non-authorized killer hybrid is enough to get at least half of those scums released based on jury sympathy alone.”

John visibly tensed as his eyes narrowed on Sally and attempted to melt her into a pool of liquid through will power alone.

“Excuse me. Was it not Scotland Yard who asked him to help? He did it as a favour to YOU. He went undercover, got himself captured, got himself RAPED for chrissakes so that YOU could solve a bloody serial killer case that YOU had been incapable of solving even after DOZENS of deaths. Now you have the nerve to turn around and BLAME him for HELPING? Are you fucking insane?! Where do you get the balls...”

John had steadily inched closer and closer to Sally as his words dripped with venom. In an attempt to calm him down, Lestrade stepped in between the doctor and his subordinate just as Sherlock pulled him back.

“John, calm down, we're not blaming Sherlock for anything. We want to help, we'll find a way to prove he didn't kill Dim. Donovan, go find the coroner who did the autopsy, bring him in for questioning at once.”

Sally, a bit shaken at how threatening John had turned suddenly, swallowed and gave herself a little shake. She nodded curtly at the instructions and headed out of the office.

“Look, I'm sorry about what she said, she shouldn't have put it like that,” Lestrade huffed once the door closed behind Sally, “But it is true that this is going to be incredibly messy to clean up, so let's stick together. You two head on back home, and lay low for now. Sherlock, use a disguise if you need to go outside for the time being, and John, since they've got a picture of you too, I suggest you put on some sunglasses too or something. Don't talk to the press, don't make public statements and wait for me to contact you, OK? We'll get this all sorted.”

Sherlock looked over at John to see his owner's face still red from anger and trying to contain his urge to lash out. Tugging on the doctor's arm, he nudged him towards the door.

“Yes, we'll do that. At least let the media frenzy die down for now. Call me tomorrow with whatever you find out from the coroner,” Sherlock said as he readjusted his clothes, pulled the hat lower on his head and handed the sunglasses over to John.

Lestrade gave them a nod as they exited, every one of them wearing an expression of apprehension and the beginnings of fear.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 36 END** _

I spent a week trying to figure out the details of how to write this and ended up driving myself crazy attempting to find loopholes to fill.  It might get complicated, as are the case with cases and scandals, so if anything is unclear feel free to point it out to me.

Thank you all so much for sticking through all these months with me, I can't believe how long this story has continued, and how many of you have continued to read and comment.  You're all wonderful, and it makes writing fanfics such a fantastic hobby to have <3


	37. The Coroner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade brings some news about the coroner in charge of Dim's autopsy as the media starts circulating worrisome news about the case.

The flat was unusually quiet as John and Sherlock returned home. Mrs. Hudson came up to check on them, having saw the news on the telly. She tried to cheer them up, keeping optimistic that everything will work out in the end, but neither Sherlock nor John could muster up much enthusiasm to match her's. Finally, after giving both men a hug, the landlady returned back to her own flat for the evening.

Sherlock sat himself down in his armchair as John made some tea for them. He clasped his hands together and rested it under his chin, going over all the data he had gathered today. Right now his life lingered on the testimony of a coroner and the ability of the NSY to find proof that the report regarding Dim's death had been tampered with. He didn't like those odds at all.

A small saucer holding a steaming cup of tea was placed beside him as he felt gentle fingers carding through his curls. He turned his head and looked up at the doctor.

“John?”

The short haired man felt his heart squeeze at the quiet voice, seemingly so small and tinted with fear.

“Yes, love?”

“What if...what if they can't prove the autopsy report was changed? What if they actually pin Dim's murder on me?”

John bent down and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, cradling his head and hugging him tightly.

“Shh...hush, that won't happen. I won't let that happen, and neither will Lestrade. We WILL prove you're innocent, Sherlock.”

Nuzzling his face against John, Sherlock tried to make himself believe the words, but it was so hard. If he has to stand trial, he's not going to get a very sympathetic audience considering hybrids are more or less considered disposable to most people. They're going to look at him the same as they would any other animal that proved a threat to humans, a needle to his arm if they were feeling generous, a bullet between the eyes if they weren't in the mood to wait. His voice let out a soft whimper at the thought, hands clinging to John's shirt.

He didn't want that, he didn't want to die. Not now, not anymore. He had something to live for, someone to stay alive for. He liked his life now, he liked waking up with John beside him, all the time they spent together, their talks, their outings, their bickering, and of course when they made love. They would hold onto each other so tightly it felt like he couldn't breathe. With every kiss, every touch, John would tell him how much he means to the other man without needing any words.

If this had happened a year ago, he might have not cared about this turn of events. In the past, he might have even welcomed it as a final relief from his life, but not anymore. This is a battle and he can't afford to lose.

John felt Sherlock's body shaking in his arms and tightened his hold. He will do everything to restore Sherlock's reputation, he silently promised himself. It was already bad enough that the brunet had allowed himself to be pushed into the shadows following the breakthrough on the fight clubs case, even though there was no way Scotland Yard could have solved it without Sherlock's help, but now someone's trying to use that to implicate Sherlock in a murder? If Sherlock didn't want to be in the eye of the media and preferred keeping his role in helping NSY a secret, John can respect that wish, but he will certainly not tolerate such a blatant smear against someone so brilliantly amazing as Sherlock. Whether it was Moriarty or someone else, they will be in a world of pain once John Watson gets his hands on them.

“John?” Sherlock lifted his head to talk without being muffled.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens...I...I love you.”

The older man allowed a smile to grace over his lips as he peered at the adoring eyes that looked back at him.

“I know, I love you, too, Sherlock. Whatever happens we'll face it together, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded his head just as John's phone rang. He pulled it out from his pocket and checked the caller. Greg Lestrade. Sherlock reached for his tea and took a sip as John answered the call.

“Yes, Greg?”

“John.”

The steely tone immediately put John on guard as he straightened.

“Greg, what happened?”

“The coroner that I had Donovan check? The one that did the autopsy on the hybrid Sherlock is accused of murdering?”

“Yeah, did you bring him in? What did he say?”

“His name was Simon Bayers. He's missing, John. He's been missing for over two weeks now. One of his friends filed the missing persons report, said they haven't seen or heard from him for half a month.”

The news settled like ice in John's stomach as he glanced over at Sherlock, who was watching him sharply. He had already figured out that whatever news Lestrade brought wasn't good, and his mouth turned down in a frown.

“He's...missing?! How?! How can he be missing? Was he kidnapped? Did you check his home? Did someone murder him too? What the hell is going on, Greg?!” The questions poured out from John in a jumble of words as he tried to make sense of this new development.

“His case wasn't reported to my department, but I interviewed some guys who are on that case. His house was clean, didn't look like any kind of struggle or break in, but they don't have any trail from him at all. No credit cards being used, no phone calls in the past two weeks, nothing. It's like he got swallowed up and disappeared.”

“So you're telling me that the only bloke who can give us a clue as to why that autopsy report has been changed is now missing? And we've got nothing?!”

“John...I'm sorry. Look, I'm going to keep looking, all right? I've got some guys going back over Bayers' house to see if they can come up with any new leads as to his whereabouts, maybe get a fingerprint or something.”

“Isn't there anything else we can do? Maybe we can pry the news stations and find out who their 'inside source' is.”

“The media's closing ranks. They won't leak the name of their source short of us getting a warrant, we've tried. They claim they have to keep the identity a secret because their source is afraid Sherlock would go after them if their name is leaked. Hell we don't even know if it's a man, woman, hybrid, or more than one person.”

“That's bullocks, Greg!”

“I know, I know. But listen, you guys stay put, all right? I don't want you two running around all over and getting into more trouble than you are. My boss has already tried to force my hand into arresting Sherlock on suspicion of murder, I don't want to give him more leverage to use.”

John didn't even realize he had growled until he saw Sherlock's eyebrows go up. Attempting to hide it by clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and nodded into the phone.

“Fine. Keep us updated.”

Sherlock pulled his feet up onto his chair, curling into a ball as he watched John hang up and drop the phone onto the table tiredly. The man rubbed the back of his neck and forced himself to not swipe his hand over the table top to knock everything to the floor in frustration. Perfect. Just bleeding perfect. Whoever had set up this little frame had clearly covered all their tracks.

“John? Are you OK?” Sherlock's voice penetrated John's thoughts and he quickly gave himself a little shake. Right, no time for a break down now, it's not HIS life on the line here.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Apparently the coroner vanished into thin air so now we have no way to find out who tampered with the autopsy report. I can't believe this.”

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip as his mind worked. The coroner must have been either kidnapped or killed, which means he must have either did the tampering himself or at least knows something that would lead to the culprit.

“Sherlock, do you really think Moriarty is behind all of this?” John asked as he sat down in the chair facing the curly haired brunet.

“Yes, I do. And considering what Mycroft told us about him, I'm even more positive.”

“So then, this is revenge?”

“No...I feel like it's more than that. If Mycroft's information is accurate, Moriarty has much grander schemes to run than to concern himself with killing off some random hybrids. He wouldn't have cared if we broke up his little game. I almost feel like he's...entertaining himself, that the fight club, the killings, and now this, it's all to keep himself distracted.”

“Distracted? From what?”

Sherlock shrugged, “Boredom, I suppose. It's easy to become tediously bored, until it feels like your brain is cannibalizing itself just to not flat line.”

John's eyebrows rose as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Is that what your brain feels like, sometime? That it's struggling not to flat line?”

Sherlock blinked and focused his eyes on John.

“There...have been times. Maybe...maybe that's also why I didn't mind the drugs back when Sebastian gave them to me. His ownership kept my body physically exhausted, but it held little interest for my mind. The drugs, on the other hand, the drugs would keep my mind quiet,” guilt-ridden eyes lowered as Sherlock curled in on himself, ears and tail drooping listlessly.

For a few seconds, John was silent, watching. More than once he had thought it was a miracle Sherlock hadn't died at the hands of his previous owner, and now he realized death wasn't the only thing that had stalked Sherlock while Sebastian had owned him.

Standing up, the doctor gently tugged on Sherlock's legs until he lowered them to the floor. He reached out and grasped the two elegant hands in his, urging his lover to stand up too. Slowly, he led the way to the sofa and sat down on one end, helping Sherlock onto his lap.

As Sherlock pressed himself to John's chest, the doctor brushed back the curls that fell over his forehead. He nuzzled his nose into the soft brown locks, smelling the shampoo Sherlock used.

“We'll find Moriarty, we'll take him down,” John whispered firmly into Sherlock's ear.

 

  
**~*~*~*~*~**

 

The next morning found the two occupants of 221B Baker Street eating breakfast in the living room, eyes watching the telly. Some time over the course of last evening, the news had managed to identify John from the photos and, following that, confirmed that the name of the hybrid in question was Sherlock. Along with the new information, they released new photos of the two of them together plus a few of Sherlock at crime scenes. Scotland Yard had released a statement claiming they were investigating into these allegations that Sherlock had committed murder. When pressed as to why they hadn't brought him in for questioning already, Lestrade told the reporters that thus far, there wasn't enough evidence.

“They haven't gotten their hands on the autopsy,” Sherlock commented offhandedly as he watched the screen, “If those reporters had read the autopsy they'd know Scotland Yard has more than enough evidence to bring me in.”

“But whoever is behind this clearly had a hand in doctoring the report, why didn't they leak that to the press along with all this other stuff?”

Sherlock didn't reply, although in his mind he had an idea. This was like setting a trap and watching your prey run around with nowhere to go, yet still desperate to survive. It served no other purpose than for amusement's sake.  He turned his attention back to the telly as a picture of John appeared.

“ _...John Watson, formerly a captain who had served in Afghanistan, is scheduled to appear as a key witness in the trial against Sebastian Wilkes in the coming months._

_Although described as a pleasant and loyal man by friends and colleagues, there are rumours rising regarding his relationship with his hybrid. Sources who have witnessed the two of them in public have stated that they appear more like a couple than owner and pet, leading to an outpouring of disgust on social media websites denouncing such an arrangement as 'bizarre', 'unhealthy' and 'unnatural'. Some have even gone so far as to speculate that this kind of relationship can lead to hybrid rights activists eventually demanding legal marriage between humans and hybrids._

_These accusations, along with the possibility that his hybrid had committed murder, will likely lead to Sebastian Wilkes' attorneys questioning the credibility of Mr. Watson as a witness. If Mr. Watson proves unable to provide testimony against Mr. Wilkes, it will be a major set back for Scotland Yard's case against the man accused of being at the head of the hybrid serial killings last year._ ”

John and Sherlock listened grimly, each feeling rage and frustration rising inside themselves.

“John...maybe...,” Sherlock's voice was unsteady as he stood up and walked to the window, peering outside to the streets below. There weren't any reporters out in front of their door, but he had no doubt there was paparazzi just waiting for either of them to step out. “Maybe I should leave. Even just for a while. At this rate, I'm going to drag you down with me, and if that happens you won't be able to testify against Sebastian. If they don't see me with you, it'll stop these rumours and whatever the result of their accusation against me for murder, it won't affect you.”

John got up from his chair and walked to the fireplace, placing his hands on the mantle. He looked at the mirror that hung on the wall, seeing the signs of sleep deprivation on his own face.

“No.”

His eyes noted Sherlock's reflection as the exasperated hybrid turned from the window and stared at John.

“It's the most logical thing to do, John. Even if I get put down, it'd be worse if Sebastian ends up free, too. Plus, if that happens, your reputation would be ruined! You will be accused of being involved with a murderer, and a hybrid no less! No, there are no laws against that, but you know perfectly well your name will be tainted wherever you go now that it's all over the news. Do you really want that for the rest of your life?”

John turned around to face Sherlock, eyes steady and expression firm. He wasn't going to let Sherlock sway him on this decision. This is too important, and his mind is firmly made up.

“Sherlock, you're not leaving. I'm not leaving. We're staying, right here, at 221B Baker Street. Both of us. Even if you are accused of murder, even if you are convicted of murder, that doesn't change. I don't care what they say about our relationship. I am not going to let them separate us.”

The doctor takes a few steps so that he stood right in front of Sherlock, taking the pale hands into his. His eyes peer up, noting how the sunlight from outside seems to cast a glow around the brunet making him even more ethereal than usual.

“I love you, and I'm not going to let them shame me into letting you go. I promised you will be safe here the day I got you, remember? I'm not interested in breaking my promise, Sherlock. You won't let me break my promise, will you?”

Sherlock suddenly felt it hard to breathe as his hands gripped onto John's tightly. Rationally he knew it'd be better for them if he went somewhere else to stay for a while, at least until all this is over, but a part of him had been terrified. Where would he go? What would he do on his own? John's reassurances were like the rock that anchored him to safety and he clung to them desperately.

Shaking his head, Sherlock stepped closer to the man he had come to love so much and bent his head down, pressing their foreheads together.

“No...you'd never break your promise, John. I know.”

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 37 END** _

Sorry for the delay, work is a little busy recently OTL

So, our case unfolds and it looks like someone's really out to get Sherlock.  This is going to take a few chapters to finish so buckle your seatbelts everyone!

 


	38. The Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John receives an unexpected request from Sebastian. What could he want? And how does he fit into what's been happening?

John stared at the letter in his hand, brow furrowed, mouth turned downwards in a severe frown. His eyes scanned over the words rapidly, once, twice, and finally a third time just to confirm he had not misread anything.

“He wants to see Sherlock and me?”

His question was asked without taking his eyes off the paper.

“Yeah. His attorney submitted the request today.”

Carefully, John folded up the letter and replaced it in its original envelope. He tapped it a few times against his palm and looked up at the only other person in the room.

“Why does he want to see us?”

Lestrade shrugged and shook his head.

“His attorney said it was private and wouldn't reveal anymore information.”

John handed the document back to the DI as he headed for the kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Sure, thanks. Listen, John, you don't have to see him. I mean, god knows both you and Sherlock are well within reason to never want to see the bastard again. I just had to deliver the request since it's a formal notice, that's all.”

Turning the kettle on, John took out two tea cups before he turned and faced the DI. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms, contemplation mixing with worry.

“He's had months to submit such a request, why now? With everything that's going on, what possible reason would he have to see us now?”

Lestrade scratched the back of his head and sat himself down in a chair at the kitchen table. He smiled to himself when he noticed a pile of science lab equipment in the corner of another table, beakers filled with liquids of various colours, a set of petri dishes with something growing in them. Clearly Sherlock had taken to experimenting in the flat, and of course John would indulge him. Refocusing his attention back on the doctor, he held his hands out, palms up in a sign of a complete lack of understanding.

“Guilt? Or maybe he wants a deal? I know you and Sherlock have a lot on your plate right now, John, so there's no rush. It's not like the rat bastard is going anywhere.”

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted their conversation as they heard someone bound up the stairs. Whoever it was was clearly taking the steps two at a time and before long the door to the flat was pushed open to reveal Sherlock. He had pulled on a new hat, baggy pants that allowed him to curl his tail up and hide it inside, and his scarf was wrapped up to cover his mouth. His disguise was completed by a set of sunglasses that perched on his nose, and he was hunched over a bit, giving the illusion that he was shorter than usual.

With a flourish and a gasp of exasperation, he pulled the scarf down and ripped the sunglasses from his face, tossing them onto a table.

“What is wrong with those people?! I had to sneak out from Mrs. Hudson's window just to avoid the stupid reporters. Don't they have anything better to do?!”

Lestrade scanned over his clothes with a slight hint of amusement, never having seen him look so flustered and rumpled.

“Doubt it. Your story's the hottest one in the city right now. There's mystery, murder and forbidden love, all the elements for a perfect scandal. Bet your tail they'll be hounding you until they get their big Hollywood finish.”

Sherlock growled as he pulled the hat off and threw it to join the glasses. He shook out his hair and rubbed at his ears, feeling like they had been stifled under the hat.

“We're not a Hollywood movie.”

John cleared his throat as he set down a cup of freshly brewed tea for Lestrade, handing a second cup to Sherlock.

“The media always loves these kinds of stories. People are interested in them, and it sells. Best to ignore them as much as we can for now.”

Frazzled ears pressed against dark brown curls as Sherlock grumbled. He took the offered tea but put it down, opting instead to wrap his arms around John and tug him into a hug. His sigh was muffled, and he didn't let go until it became awkward with Lestrade still there.

He sat down in a chair beside the DI and laid his head down on the table, looking tired and pouty.

“I checked Bayers' flat, I think he had been bought out.”

Lestrade and John both alerted at the information, eyes training onto Sherlock.

“Bought out? My men checked his place from top to bottom and came up empty. We went through his bank account too to try and track him, nothing. Why do you think he was bought out?” Lestrade asked. He had sent a team of his most trusted officers to the coroner's flat immediately following the discovery that he was missing, and even though they spent an entire day there nothing had appeared out of place. Even the neighbours couldn't offer up any useful information.

“I found tickets to the US and Canada along with hotel reservations. He was planning to quit his job and spend at least two months travelling , according to the itinerary on his computer. I went to the travel agent he reserved his tickets from. The woman there remembered him, said she had been startled because he paid for the whole thing in cash. I'm willing to bet whoever bought him out didn't want to risk a bank transfer, so the deal was done in cash.

John worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to wrap his head around all the information that have thus far.

“So...someone gave him money to doctor the autopsy report, but then why is he missing now?”

Sherlock snatched a biscuit from a plate on the table and munched on it, ears flicking.

“Most likely whoever it was didn't want to risk him talking, and decided to get rid of him after all,” he directed his gaze to Lestrade, eyes grim, “You should focus your men on checking murder victims that match Bayers' description. Check the morgues too. The probability that he's still alive at this point is extremely low.”

Lestrade nodded, his expression darkening as he realized what that meant.

“But if he's dead...we can't prove he changed the report.”

Sherlock's lips thinned and he looked down at the table, ears tense and hands balling into tight fists.

“If we're lucky there might be witnesses of the initial exchange between Bayers and whoever gave him the money. If we're very, very lucky.”

Silence settled in the room as the three men realized how precarious their situation was.

Trying to change the subject and give them something new to focus on, John cleared his throat and caught Sherlock's gaze.

“Lestrade brought us something from...,” he paused, suddenly feeling uncomfortable saying the name in front of Sherlock.

“From...?”

“Sebastian,” Lestrade informed him, “Sebastian had his attorney make a formal request.”

A curious eyebrow raised as sharp ears twitched in interest.

“What does he want?”

The DI took out the letter and handed it over, taking a sip of his tea to calm his nerves.

“It's just a request, so you're under no obligation to agree. But he wants to meet with you and John.”

Sherlock didn't even open the envelope. He stared at the words scrawled across the front, eyes widening.

'Open Me.

From X'

Open Me...Open Me...Sherlock's mind flew threw his memories until he pulled up the storage file he needed.

Emails, photos, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Sherlock”, Open Me, Sender: X.

The email from before, he realized with a jolt. Sebastian's envelope sported the same words as the subject of that email which contained the photos of John, and it's from the same sender.

“We'll see him,” he announced, still eyeing at the envelope.

“What? Sh-Sherlock?” John's surprised voice interrupted. He hadn't expected the brunet to agree so easily, and without even looking inside.

“We'll see him,” Sherlock repeated, voice firm, “I need to see him. Immediately.”

Lestrade and John's expression were identical as they gaped at Sherlock. The shared a look before Lestrade nodded, looking unsure.

“Uh...OK, I'll-I'll set up the meeting then. You free tomorrow? If you come by in the afternoon we'll have everything all ready for you.”

Sherlock looked at John who nodded, “Yes, tomorrow afternoon is fine. Do you have any information on his attorney? Also, a list of anyone who's been in to visit him. I need to know anyone who's had contact with him since his arrest.”

The DI shook his head, “He's only seen his attorney. Doesn't make phone calls, doesn't get visitors, either.”

Sherlock stood up and started pacing the living room, going from the fireplace to the sofa then back again. John and Lestrade followed, standing out of his way since his tail lashed about behind him.

“Was his attorney appointed to him? Or was it someone of his own choosing?” Sherlock asked, eyes flicking to Lestrade.

“Someone appointed the guy, but we don't know who. He walked in during our initial questioning and introduced himself as Sebatian's lawyer, but it didn't look like Sebastian knew who he was either.”

Dark curls bounced as Sherlock nodded.

“Get me his name and whatever information you have before our meeting with Sebastian tomorrow. If the lawyer's the only one who's had contact with him this whole time I need to find out everything I can on the man.”

Lestrade nodded and began putting his coat on.

“Right. I'll send you whatever I can find. Check your email.”

The three said their good byes and the DI left, feeling apprehensive. Sherlock may have been determined on meeting Sebastian, but it made him unsettled. Everything seemed to be piling up between the scandal and now this, and an annoying voice in his mind was whispering that somehow it was all connected. Still, Sherlock's brilliant, so if anyone could untangle this web it would be him. Lestrade sighed and looked up to the sky as he stepped out of 221B's doorway. He'll have to put his trust in Sherlock that this will get cleared up, he can only hope it happens before all of them drowns in the waves of media frenzy.

John watched the detective inspector leave from the window. The tired lines on his face did not escape the doctor's notice, and he had a feeling Lestrade had probably been getting less than adequate sleep on top of all the pressure falling on him from his superiors. It was an incredible stroke of luck for them that the man was willing to put so much on the line to help because otherwise John really didn't know what they'd do.

He felt movement behind himself and turned to find Sherlock sitting at the table and staring at his computer screen. He had drawn up an email and was looking through some of the attached photos. John frowned and stepped closer, his mind trying to figure out what the pictures were of. They were angled oddly and he was in them, although he doesn't remember taking any photos in his office. The last picture sent a cold spike through him as he saw his own face framed by a target.

“Sherlock...? What. The HELL. Is this?” His voice was tightly controlled and a part of him crowed in triumph that he had managed to keep it steady.

Sherlock looked at him, then back to his laptop before realization dawned that John hadn't seen this email yet. His face flushed and he looked slightly guilty, causing his ears to fold down and press against his curls.

“Uhm...this...I got this email before the new year...”

For a second John had the urge to shake his hybrid .

“And you didn't tell me. Any particular reason?”

Sherlock flinched at the edge to his tone, his expression growing timid.

“I...I didn't want to worry you! And I thought it was someone playing a prank...I was going to ask Lestrade to have someone trace the email and find out who had sent it. I didn't think...,” his voice trailed off as he heard John give out a sigh of exasperation before the doctor straightened and stalked into the kitchen.

“John! John, I'm sorry!” Frantically, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and chased after his doctor. He latched onto the man's arm and pulled him into a hug from behind.

“I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I didn't want you to be upset over the holidays, please, John, please, don't be angry, I'm sorry!” The words tumbled out in a flood as he pressed his mouth to the back of the short haired man's neck.

Ever since he had come to live with John the man so rarely became upset with him. It was nerve wracking to feel any sort of discontent from the older man, not the fear he had felt before when his masters were upset with him, but something more. Sherlock didn't like it at all. The idea that he had done something to make John upset made him feel guilty and ashamed, and he apologized over and over trying to make it go away.

Finally, he heard John give a soft sigh of resignation, turning in his embrace to return the hug.

“Shh...hush, calm down, Sherlock. I'm not angry.”

He waited until the brunet quieted, although his arms didn't loosen their hold.

“I'm not angry, Sherlock, I just wish you had told me something like this.”

Sherlock gave a muffled mewl and nodded. He felt soft fingers stroking his hair and pressed closer, seeking more.

John couldn't help smiling as he felt the tall hybrid reacting to his touch, knowing it would soothe him better than just words. He gently trailed his fingers through the messy curls that bounced around, taking the time to pet the soft ears, too.

“Don't keep things like this secret, OK, Sherlock? You'd want me to tell you if I came across an email like that, wouldn't you?”  
  
There was a small nod in response and John pressed a kiss against Sherlock's temple.

“So, no more secrets, deal?”

Sherlock pulled back a bit looking like a child who had been scolded, hands dropping to clasp in front of him. He still looked so filled with guilt that John couldn't help cupping his cheeks to pull him down for a kiss. They both kept it soft and sweet, their bodies melding against each other with ease. John didn't pull away until he felt the tension leave Sherlock's body and, by then, both their cheeks were reddened, lips swollen from soft nips.

“So, tell me about that email, then. I assume you didn't find out who had sent it?” John asked as he stepped back and headed to the refrigerator. Neither he nor Sherlock had had much to eat today and he was starving.

“No, but the subject title is the same as what's written on the envelope of the letter Lestrade brought today from Sebastian's attorney. It's signed in the same fashion too.”

John paused in his rummaging and peered back at his lover.

“Oh. That's why you were so insistent to meet Sebastian even though you didn't read the actual request.”

Sherlock nodded and sat himself down at the kitchen table. He played with an empty vial that he had planned to use in his experiment, rolling it around on the table surface.

“Going by the clothes you were wearing in the photos, they were taken after the fight club case, which means Sebastian was already in custody by then. I didn't think it was connected to that case at all but now the lawyer comes with a request to meet using the same words as was used in that email. Whoever took those photos, and is planning to target you, is somehow connected to Sebastian and that case.”

John pulled out the ingredients he needed for a sandwich and set them on the table, bringing two plates to make one for Sherlock and another for himself.

“OK, so let's get our information straight here. Moriarty escaped after the fight club, but Sebastian was caught. Someone connected to that case then stalked me to my office and took photos, sending them to you in this email.

Now someone has leaked video and photos of that fight you had with Dim, insinuating you killed him. The autopsy report on Dim doesn't mention the bullet that actually killed him, instead supporting the videos that you killed him, too. The coroner, Simon Bayers, who did the autopsy is missing, with evidence that he had been bribed to doctor the report. It's likely he's dead, although we don't have evidence of it.

On top of all that, there's the scandal that we're in a relationship that's more than master and pet...which is the one thing they actually have correct.

And today we get a request from Sebastian and his lawyer that he wants to meet us. With clear evidence that they're somehow connected to whoever had sent the email way back before the new year.

Oh, and you think Moriarty is behind all of this. Did I miss anything?”

John plopped a thick sandwich in front of Sherlock as he looked at him with raised eyebrows.

The pale cheeks had heated when John mentioned their relationship being more than master and pet, and he offered up a little smirk.

“No, I think you covered it pretty well.”

John nodded an affirmation but continued on, “So if they do find you guilty, Scotland Yard is going to have a flood of convicted criminals appealing their cases because the evidence you provided to bust them would be called into question. I'd definitely be out of a job at least, possibly put in jail, and hybrids found guilty of murder are...,” he couldn't finish the thought although both of them knew the consequences.

Sherlock shook his head and looked at John steadily, “The only one that's actually implicated in a crime is me, for killing Dim. You would only be guilty by public opinion for...for being in a relationship with me. If it comes down to a court case, we can say I deceived you about it. The jury would be sympathetic to you, a retired military doctor lied to by his hybrid, we can say you had nothing to do with any of it.”

John stopped preparing his own sandwich and stared at Sherlock. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly opened, a look of shock and confusion on his face. The brunet stared back, feeling confused himself as to why he was being give such a look. His brows furrowed and he waved a hand in front of John as if to snap him out of a trance.

“J-John? What's wrong? Are you OK?”

The questions jolted the doctor from his stupor and he shook his head quickly. His expression hardened and became severe as he pinned Sherlock with his eyes.

“Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare. You didn't kill anyone, I am not letting them pin a false accusation on you, and I am CERTAINLY not letting anyone believe you to be a...a...,” he couldn't find the right word to express what he wanted and instead gave a frustrated growl, “Whatever! That is NOT going to happen!”

He slammed his hand down on the table, causing the dishes to jump and clatter. It startled Sherlock who had never seen this side of John before. He wanted to say something to calm the man, but wasn't sure what, so he sat quietly and waited.

John spun and stalked to the far end of the table then back again, trying to walk off some of his agitation.

“No, not going to happen, Sherlock. I don't care if we have to flee the country, disappear from the face of this planet, I am NOT letting them get their hands on you. Nor am I letting anyone separate us,” he stopped suddenly in front of Sherlock as his eyes lit up with an idea, “Mycroft. We'll get Mycroft to help. I know you don't like him, but if he's as powerful as you say he is then he can surely help!”

It wasn't an option that hadn't passed Sherlock's mind, but he was hesitant to employ it. First of all, Mycroft would have contacted them if he was willing to help. Second, if his older brother steps in, people might start asking questions about where all this new information came from. If the media got even a whiff that someone in the government's involved, it's possible that they might follow the thread and unravel Mycroft's entire cover. That would blow this thing through the stratosphere. He shook his head to reject John's suggestion, deciding not to pull his brother into this for the time being.

“No, it's better not to involve him. We haven't run out of options yet, and we don't have enough data. I'm sure if he does get his hands on anything that could be of use he'd find a way to get it to us anyway. Since he hasn't contacted us, we can assume he doesn't have anything we don't have.”

John looked like he was about to argue, but after a moment he straightened and sat himself down in the chair beside Sherlock.

“Do you...think maybe he doesn't want to get involved?”

The long tail swayed gently as Sherlock bit into his sandwich and chewed slowly. He took his time, trying to sort his own thoughts out before he replied.

“You mean do I think he's afraid to get involved? Afraid he'll be found out, lose everything he's fought for and end up getting put down? Possible. Mycroft's not a coward, but self preservation runs in all living creatures. He certainly isn't the type to jump in head first, especially without knowing all the facts. If this is a game of chess we're playing, then getting Sebastian to request a meeting is Moriarty's next move. We should at least meet with him and see what he wants before we decide what our move should be.”

There was something else in Sherlock's voice that caused John to pause. He waited and when the brunet stayed quiet, he reached over and tugged at his sleeve.

“Hey, no secrets, remember? What else is on your mind?”

Sherlock pursed his lips and hesitated, looking a bit pouty before he relented.

“I...I'm concerned because none of us have any idea if Moriarty knows about Mycroft...and if he does, how much. Does he know Mycroft's connection to me? His past? If my brother gets involved, and Moriarty does hold information over him, he can just as easily leak it and then...,” his breath hitched and John realized why Sherlock didn't want to go to Mycroft for help. He could become responsible for getting his brother killed if Moriarty does know about Mycroft's past, or finds out about it.

“I don't particularly like him, John, but...but he's still my brother. Despite my grudge towards him he has saved me, twice if you think about it. He didn't have to, he could have stayed in his cozy position and never contacted me again. Any link to me risked having his past revealed, but he chose to help me nonetheless,” bitterness tinged his tone but Sherlock's blue eyes were clouded with sadness.

John nodded along, thinking about his own sister. It's true, regardless of how much he disliked certain things about her, there was a link as siblings that was difficult to break. He can only imagine it was more powerful for Sherlock and Mycroft who had no one else to rely on back when they were children. He laid a hand over Sherlock's on the table, giving it a squeeze.

“OK, we won't go to him just yet. You're right that we need more information. At least some solid evidence to link Moriarty to this, otherwise it's all based on your deductions. I don't think a jury will be swayed by just that.”

The two remained quiet as they finished off their food, already feeling tired even though it was only early afternoon. John put a movie on that Sherlock pretended to watch even though he was busy tapping away on his phone, snuggled comfortably in John's arms. Tomorrow they will face Sherlock's ex-owner once more, hopefully it will end in some of their questions being answered finally.

 

* * *

 

 

_**CHAPTER 38 END** _

Oh goodness, I am SO SORRY for the long wait x__X  My students have been practicing for a speech contest and I've had to stay over time at work every day to help them practice.  It'll all be done next week and hopefully I'll get back to updating more regularly.  Thank you to all those who have continued to follow this story, and those who have giving kudos/commented!  You're all wonderful!

The plot thickens for our boys and the meeting with Sebastian ought to be very interesting!  I've got a few twists and turns planned, so hold on to your seats!  (I promise happy ending though!!)


	39. The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock heads to see Sebastian in prison, but they're in for a nasty surprise.

Sherlock rifled through the pages that he had printed, eyes scanning the words for the tenth time. The cab drove slowly through the traffic as rain poured outside. Usually Sherlock hated the dampness that came with rainy weather, but today it was a blessing as the downpour kept reporters away from their front door. John's leg bounced nervously beside him although he kept his eyes trained on the window.

“You don't have to see him if it makes you that anxious, John,” his deep voice drew the man's attention to him, their eyes meeting.

“Well, you're not going in alone.”

They had had this conversation several times already between yesterday and today, and it always went down the same way. Sherlock had spent last night reading up on Sebastian's lawyer, after Lestrade had emailed him the information, the same information that he had printed and now held in his hands. The man seemed clean, there was no mention of him being connected to Sebastian prior to this case, but whoever had appointed him to the man must have had a reason for it.

Sherlock and John had discussed how they were going to approach this meeting and had decided they would talk as minimally as possible. They want to gather information from Sebastian, not give any away. Sherlock had also brought with him a copy of the emailed photos, hoping that by showing them to Sebastian he can read the man's reaction.

“We won't stay long...just enough to see how much he knows,” Sherlock tried to placate the doctor's nerves, tossing a smile at him.

John teetered on the edge a bit before he finally gave in and smiled back. He didn't like the idea of going anywhere near Sebastian, especially not with Sherlock. It honestly made him feel nauseated because all he can remember for the entire morning was the time they had been kidnapped. He could still smell the room they were held in, see flashes of the fight Sherlock had been forced into, and worst of all, the image of Sebastian coming into the room after the fight, holding a violated and broken Sherlock in his arms. Sometimes he still had nightmares about it and now he has to see the man in person.

Part of him wanted to run as far away as possible, but another part was eager to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze until there was no life left. How was he supposed to stay calm and just TALK like he would to a normal person, knowing how much pain the man had caused the person he loved most? He didn't know how Sherlock was keeping it all together, John was sure if the positions were switched he would be hissing and fighting not to be anywhere near the murdering psycho.

It wasn't difficult for Sherlock to deduce John's thoughts. Everything seemed written on the doctor's face, and he wished they didn't have to do this. He reached out his tail and wrapped it around John's wrist, using it as an anchor for both of them to hold onto. It's just one meeting, just one. Keep your head calm and rational, don't let him rile you up, he told himself sternly, go in, get what you need, get out.

The cab rolled to a stop outside the secured facility and they stepped out, running towards the door to escape the rain. Sherlock stepped closer to John as he saw the barbed wired fence that surrounded the high walls of the prison. A cage for humans...he shivered remembering his own cage and forcefully shoved the memory away. Not now. NOT. NOW.

Security was high as Sebastian was being charged with several cases of hybrid killings, along with kidnapping. John and Sherlock were patted down to make sure they didn't wield any weapons before they were allowed to enter through several locked doors, leading to the visitation block of the prison. Sherlock couldn't help crowding against John as they walked, the show of authority by the guards making him tremble.

As much as he had gotten used to being around regular humans, anyone who displayed a high level of power jolted his instincts to submit. He couldn't help it, even around some of the more authoritative police officers at Scotland Yard he would make sure to put as much distance between himself and them as possible. Power in the form of physical strength meant that whatever clever deductions his mind might come up with would be useless against them in an actual fight. That left him stripped of his one skill and placed him in a position of great vulnerability. He tried not to let it show, consciously forcing his ears not to flatten or his tail to tense, but his jaw was tight and his eyes darted around, wary of the locations of every guard they passed.

John was initially unaware of the effect the prison was having on Sherlock as he walked ahead, following the man who was leading them to the visitation room. It wasn't until he felt the tall hybrid almost crashing into him as they walked they he turned to give a questioning look, noting the unsettled look in the bright blue eyes. Sherlock was thumbing at his collar, something he liked to do when he needed reassurance, and when they passed a guard he shuffled out of the way quickly even though the man paid him no mind. John reached back inconspicuously and slipped his hand into Sherlock's, gripping it tightly. He gave a soft smile when their eyes met and tugged his lover up to walk beside him. Slipping an arm around the slim waist, John felt the tense muscles relax minutely as they finally stopped in front of their designated room.

The door was solid steel with only a small, rectangular window at the top to see inside. The guard brought out a card and swiped it through the reader, then entered a pass code before they heard a beep and the lock open. With a jerk, the burly man opened the door and motioned Sherlock and John inside.

“We'll bring the prisoner in soon. He's just going through inspections now. I'll be right outside the door the whole time, but it's sound proof so don't worry about anyone eavesdropping. When you're ready to leave, push this button and I'll let you out,” he explained the procedure in a bored tone as if he does this several times every day.

John looked at the red button the man had indicated by the door and nodded. It felt unnerving knowing they're going to be locked in here with Sebastian, and he unconsciously flexed his hand, as if prepping for a fight. The door closed with a heavy bang that echoed in the room. There was a simple metal table, nailed down to the floor, that had a half ring welded to the centre. Three chairs were provided, and some light filtered in through a small window that was heavily guarded by metal bars. In addition, a light overhead buzzed, making the room brighter than what John had expected.

Sherlock huffed and sat down at one of the chairs, pulling his coat tightly around himself. It wasn't cold, but the atmosphere made him shiver. This was a place for bad people and the laws of the normal world didn't apply here. He didn't want to be anywhere near here, even though he knew logically that he's safe. The scrape of a chair against the floor made him jump and he looked to see John pulling up beside him. Their knees bumped into each other as the doctor sat down too, reaching over to rub at the curls at the back of Sherlock's neck.

“OK? There's still time to just leave.”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, although he leaned a bit towards John.

“Not after coming this far. I want to see him, John. I want to see him here, in this cage. I used to dream about locking him in a cage and making him feel all the...the things he put me through,” images from his memory flashed in front of him and his ears trembled.

John ran his hand through the curls and stroked the muscles at the base of the furry ears, feeling how tight and tense they were. His mouth set in a grim line as his mind supplied its own pictures of when he had the misfortune of meeting Sebastian. The smug face, the cruel gleam in his eyes, the way he had touched Sherlock. For a moment John wished Sebastian wasn't in here, wasn't protected by the law so that he could ram his fist into the bastard's skull and feel the bones shatter.

A loud buzzer sounded as a second set of doors opened, separate from the one John and Sherlock came through. For a few seconds, no one moved. John and Sherlock sat in their chairs, back ramrod straight as they stared at the newcomer, who stared back without a word. The guard behind him gave him a shove and Sebastian stumbled into the room, plopping down in the third chair. The guard took his cuffed hands and locked them to the semi circle in the centre of the table, leaving the prisoner unable to move too much. No one uttered a sound until the guard left, giving John and Sherlock a nod.

It was so quiet in the room as two pairs of eyes trained on the third figure. Finally, a bright smile crossed over Sebastian's mouth as he looked between John and Sherlock.

“How lovely of you to come visit.”

Sherlock's lips pulled back in a snarl as John pressed back in his chair, almost as if the sound from the man caused him to recoil.

“You asked to see us. Why?”

Sebastian made a disdainful noise and shook his head.

“Now, now, doctor, patience. You'll find out soon, but first...,” gleeful eyes raked over Sherlock as the man leaned over the table as much as he could towards the growling hybrid, “How are you doing, my pet? I see all your injuries have healed. I really should have branded you when I had the chance, make my mark on you permanently so that even when the good doctor here fucks you you won't forget who you really belong to.”

Sherlock's hand slammed down on the table as he jumped up, tail slashing through the air angrily.

“Enough! Tell us why you wanted to see us, or we're leaving. Now.”

Sebastian only laughed as he leaned back, giving his visitors an amused look.

John stood up beside Sherlock and slotted himself between his lover and Sebastian. He pinned a deadly glare to the prisoner but kept quiet, biting down his own retorts.

“You two really are idiots, just as Jim said,” Sebastian taunted airily, “Although I must say, he's taken quite a shine to you. You're...entertaining.”

Sherlock growled louder and his body was poised to pounce. John hurriedly put a hand on the brunet's arm to prevent him from doing anything rash.

“Knock off this useless talk. You have ten seconds to tell us why you asked us here today, otherwise we're leaving.”

Sebastian's eyebrow raised before his expression morphed into a smile that one might see on the face of a predator once it has cornered its prey.

“Why I asked you here...it's really quite simple, Dr. Watson. You see, Jim doesn't like people messing up his plans, which you did most masterfully. People that get in his way must be...punished. Oh but don't worry, he has no interest in killing you, that's so boring, and neither of you are particularly afraid of death. No...you're both much more fearful of something else.”

John and Sherlock back away a step as the smile on Sebastian's face grew, eyes gleaming. His mouth tensed for a moment and he seemed to bite down on something before he swallowed.

“What you most fear is being apart...being forced to see the other suffer and being absolutely helpless to do anything about it,” the smug man took a breath with some effort and he gasped, coughing, “Well, Dr. Watson...you best say goodbye to your little pet...because you will never see him again.”

The last words were hoarse and strained, and before he even finished Sebastian fell from his chair, held up awkwardly by his cuffed hands. His body convulsed violently as his eyes rolled back, blood trickling from his mouth.

John shouted as he ran forward in full doctor mode. His hand grabbed at Sebastian's wrists, attempting to prevent him from cutting his flesh to shreds on the metal cuffs, even as he tried to take his pulse. Sherlock raced to the door and frantically pushed the button for the guard outside to open it, and within minutes it was chaos in the room. Three guards piled in, summoned by the shouting, along with the prison doctor. Sherlock and John were crowded into a corner where they watched the proceedings with confusion and fear. Sebastian's words rang loudly in their ears, ominous and so filled with the lust for revenge that they couldn't shake it off as empty threats.

After a few minutes, Sebastian's body stilled. Blood had poured out of his mouth and made a mess on the floor. His eyes were glazed and lifeless, and even before the doctor pronounced him dead, John knew.

The head guard stormed into the room, face red and huffing for air. He glanced around the scene and demanded to know what the hell had happened.

Stumbling to his feet, the guard who had shown John and Sherlock in earlier stood up and walked over.

“It was just a visitation, sir. These two here were talking to the prisoner and the next thing I knew there was shouting. By the time we got in here the prisoner was having spasms and shaking like crazy, and then he died. Only took a few minutes.”

Sherlock's mind raced like a rocket and even before the head guard turned to look at them he had pieced together the meaning behind Sebastian's last words. Moriarty wanted to separate him and John. Sebastian getting killed in a room where only the three of them were present meant a murder charge can be brought against him and John. Either they both go to prison, or at least one of them would. Either way, he can't be with John anymore. What's worse, if Sherlock is found guilty of this in any way he'd be put down.

“Arrest these two on suspicion of murder! You! Go call Scotland Yard! No one touch anything in the room, get those two out of here!”

The order from the head guard didn't surprise Sherlock at all, although John was shouting and screaming that there has been a mistake. They were roughly pressed against the wall and their hands cuffed behind them before two guards escorted them out.

“Sherlock! Wait, stop! We didn't have anything to do with this! We were just talking to him!”

John's protests went unheeded as they were led away to wait for Scotland Yard, put in separate rooms so they couldn't talk to each other. Sherlock glanced at his guard, tugging a bit on the cuffs around his wrists. He could feel the well of panic starting to set in as the weight of the situation fell upon him without warning. Whatever was happening before, he thought he could handle it because he had John with him, but now what? What was he going to do now without the doctor? To the rest of the world he was still merely a pet, barely more rights than a cockroach. And what about John? What if John gets pinned for this? No..., Sherlock shook his head firmly as if to convince himself of his resolve. John can't get blamed for any of this, he won't allow it. This all started with him, and he'll have it end with him if that's what it took.

 

* * *

_**END CHAPTER 39** _

And our plot thickens! (And I'm finally finished with the recitation contest, yay!!)

Hopefully I'll get to update from regularly now, haha.  Thank you for your patience and for sticking around for those of you still with me!!  Hang in there, happy ending, I promise, happy ending!

 


	40. The Midnight Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John and Sherlock both jailed, things take an even worse turn when Sherlock receives a visitor to his cell.

Lestrade wasn't a man of great patience, but he considered himself reasonably capable of holding his temper. Left alone with a certain hybrid, however, he found himself put to the test. The DI pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed tiredly, wishing he could just put his head down on the table in front of him and take a sorely needed nap. It had been days since he last slept well, and by now he was sustaining solely on coffee and adrenaline.

“I told you we didn't do it! There's nothing else to say! He was talking to us, then started convulsing and died, we didn't even touch him! For chrissakes!” Sherlock's agitated form paced back and forth in the small interrogation room, hair a mess and eyes wild. The limited space made him feel trapped, and without John nearby panic was starting to set in. Even though his clothes had been taken and he was now dressed in a bright orange prison gown that barely reached the top of his thighs, he still managed to look quite intimidating, long arms flailing around in frustration.

“Sherlock, for the last time, calm down! We just need to get the facts straight.”

“That's easy for you to say! You're not the one being accused of murder...TWICE! HOW was me and John supposed to have poisoned Sebastian? If we tried to force it down his throat he would have fought, but we didn't lay a hand on him, there's no forensic evidence to prove that we physically forced him to take the poison.”

“Actually, that's not true.”

Sherlock froze and pinned a glare to Lestrade.

“He did have bruises on him from being in a fight. They were fresh too.”

“Well then he got them somewhere else before our visit. Prison fights aren't uncommon.”

“True, but there's no record of him being in one.”

“Oh, come ON! Like they actually keep dutiful record of every little scuffle those scums get into with each other.”

“No, that's true, they don't. But that explanation's not going to hold up in court, Sherlock. John had Sebastian's blood on him, and the guards that first arrived on the scene SAW him holding onto the man.”

“Because he was trying to HELP, he was trying to find out what was happening and his doctor instinct took over. That should be OBVIOUS,” the words were ground out between frustrated teeth as Sherlock tried to control his urge to punch the wall.

“That's one explanation.”

“That's the ONLY explanation.”

“Look, Sherlock, I'm on your side here. I don't want you or John to go to jail, but if you look at all the evidence, it does implicate you two as having a hand in killing him. That plus all the crap even before all this, and you KNOW what a jury's going to think.”

The two men glared at each other for several heartbeats before Sherlock folded himself down into his chair, across from the DI. All the fight seemed to leave him suddenly and he dropped his face into his hands, letting out a trembling sigh.

“Isn't...isn't there some way to at least get John out?” He looked up at Lestrade, eyes pleading, and his voice suddenly dropped until it was barely a whisper, “Please...all of this is happening because of me, John has nothing to do with any of it.”

Lestrade couldn't help staring as his mouth dropped open a bit. He hasn't known Sherlock particularly long, but this was a side of him he never associated with the hybrid. He never begged, never pleaded, and was never out of ideas. Now he appeared desperate and at a loss, all of his options taken from him, and the guilt that settled over his features caused the DI's chest to twist painfully.

“Look, we're still waiting on the final autopsy report on Sebastian, right? Hopefully we'll find out how the poison actually got into his system. That'll clear both you and John.”

Sherlock didn't look at all reassured by the suggestion to simply wait, but he nodded, mouth setting in a grim line.

“Right.”

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

John counted his steps as he walked from one end of his cell to the other.

One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn.

It was cold and damp, and he could hear the other prisoners murmuring among themselves. He clenched his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into the palm and using the sting to ground himself.

Think, think, he had to think.

Now there was no doubt that Moriarty's behind all of this, Sebastian had confirmed that for them. If his end game was to separate John and Sherlock, then he was very close to succeeding. Basically, all they're waiting for now is trial, and with all the evidence being piled against them John doubted that either of them would make it out with a not guilty verdict. For himself, a jail sentence would the worst case scenario, but for Sherlock...the doctor shuddered. No, don't think about that now. There was still a lot they can do before they get to that. For one thing, Lestrade didn't believe either of them were guilty, and with the DI as an ally they still had a chance. Plus, there was always Mycroft as their last resort, although John wasn't sure exactly how the older Holmes can help at this point.

They needed to clear Sherlock's name regarding Dim's death, and now they needed to clear both of their names in relation to Sebastian's death.

John sighed and leaned back against the hard wall of his cell. His head fell back, thudding against the cement. Sherlock...his mind couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. How was he doing? Was he frightened? Panicked? They had come so far together, and John prayed that his lover will hold on long enough for all this to be over.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

The floor was freezing and hard, and Sherlock's arms and legs shook as he crawled behind the guard who was taking him back to his cell. Hybrid criminals were housed separate from their human counterparts, and in comparison, the human jail cells looked like luxury hotels.

Aside from the change in his attire, his beautiful collar from John had been replaced by a metal chain with a tag that showed only his number. He had quickly been reminded of his place when the guards forced him down onto his hands and knees, giving him a smack across his face whenever he dared to look up or talk without permission. A leash was clipped to the chain around his neck and all the freedoms John had granted him were taken away.

It felt even worse than before since he had gotten used to being treated as an equal to humans, and he kept forgetting little details that was expected of him as a hybrid. No looking humans in the eyes, keeping his head down, using 'sir' and 'ma'am', not speaking unless spoken to, the worst had been when he had first been taken in. As was customary of all hybrids, he was stripped of all his clothes to ensure he didn't carry any hidden weapons. Then cold water had been blasted on him for a 'cleaning' before he was told to get dressed in the orange gown that he now wore.

The door to his cell creaked open and Sherlock crawled in. It was small, barely fifteen feet in length and approximately six foot wide. There was no bed, no furnishings of any kind except a toilet at the far end. The ceiling was low since hybrids were expected to be on their hands and knees at all times, so he couldn't even stand up straight in the cell.

He flinched as he felt the guard slide a hand up his thigh as he passed. The touch almost made him growl, but he quickly muffled it under a cough, not wanting to be punished. Once inside, he turned to face the bars, allowing the guard to reach in and release the leash. The door closed and the lock clicked into place, but the man stroked a heavy hand over Sherlock's cheek, giving him a hungry smirk.

“Don't worry, sweetheart, it's not so bad in here. Be good and I'm sure we can have lots of fun together.”

Sherlock forced an obedient smile to grace his lips. If he's really going to be stuck here for any length of time, then he had better play nice with the people who are going to hold his life in their hands.

As he listened to the sound of the guard's footsteps disappear down the corridor, he scuttle into the corner furthest from the door, curling up and pulling his gown tight around himself. He can hear the other prisoners, conversing through their cells, some trying to bait him into a conversation. They seemed quite curious about their new resident, but Sherlock had no intention to mingle. Right now he had more important things to think about, the most urgent of which was how to get out of here the quickest.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

A harsh tug around his neck jerked Sherlock from his fitful sleep. He hadn't even realized he had drifted off but he must have since he was now being rudely awaken. Before he could make a sound, a hand was pressed over his mouth. On instinct, Sherlock's mouth opened and he bit down as hard as he could, drawing out a hiss from his attacker. Fingers slid into his hair and yanked him back, just as a foot landed to his stomach, kicking him onto his back. A knee was pushed against his chest making it difficult to breathe and his hands clawed at whoever was looming over him, trying to break free.

“Shh, pet, be a good boy before you hurt yourself.”

Sherlock ignored the whispered words, jerking back as the sound came from right beside his ear. His head banged back into the floor and he groaned as pain exploded behind his eyes.

Something hard pressed against his throat until he gasped, eyes opening wide at the sudden inability to breathe in. His eyes snapped into focus and, although it was still dark, his sharp eyes caught the features of the man who was holding him down. He growled and tried to buck up, wanting to get the man off. It almost worked, until he felt a hand reach between his back and the floor, gripping his tail tightly near the base and yanking hard. He opened his mouth to cry out, but something rough was shoved between his lips before a sound could be made.

“I told you to BE QUIET,” the voice snarled, “Move again and I'll cut you to ribbons.”

Sherlock stilled. Now that he knew who was attacking him, he had no doubt the threat was real. Immediately, the face above him broke into a mocking smile as it lowered closer to him. He felt the man readjust his position, straddling his hips as whatever was choking his neck was pulled away.

Large, taunting eyes stared back at him, their lips a breath apart. Sherlock could feel every exhale the man made, trying desperately to press back against the floor, wishing it would close up around him.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, look at the mess you've gotten yourself into. And your poor doctor having to suffer along with you. Life is SO unfair.”

Sharp teeth bit down on whatever had been shoved into his mouth, belatedly realizing it was some kind of balled up fabric. His eyes flashed in the dark, ears pressing angrily against his head.

“Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to say something? Here, let me help you with that.”

Delicate fingers reached down and pulled his make-shift gag away. Sherlock coughed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling tempted to hurl insults until he felt the hand on his tail squeeze threateningly.

“How did you get in here?” He muttered, glaring daggers.

“Surely that's not difficult to figure out,” the man sat up and made a motion at himself.

A guard's uniform. Sherlock's brain clicked in the pieces quickly. His attacker had disguised himself as a guard and managed to sneak into the prison. Vaguely he realized what had been used on his throat earlier was a baton, and he had no doubt there were other weapons hidden within the clothes.

“Hm. What did you do? Buy yourself in? Or was it blackmail this time?”

The snickering laugh was amused as the man regarded him with interest.

“It's always so easy. Everyone has a weak spot, don't they? Someone they want to protect, or some secret they want hidden. Once you have that, you can manipulate anyone.”

Sherlock tried to shield his expression into one of disdain and boredom, not wanting the man to know how unsettled he was.

“Dull. Surely a criminal mastermind such as yourself can come up with a more...elegant way of achieving your goals? Moriarty.”

The smirk that answered his challenge was dark, and Sherlock could almost hear his attacker's mind racing with excitement.

“Wasting such energy on ordinary people...boring~. Although I will admit they can be so adorable, if not frustratingly easy. You should see how I make them dance, Sherlock. Just like how I've made you and your John dance. It's the most fun I've had in years.”

Sherlock's growl echoed in the cell and Moriarty pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.

“Hush now, my pet. None of that,” his finger moved, trailing along the hybrid's sharp jawline, sliding down his neck to press at his pulse point.

“What...do you want? Why are you here?” Sherlock managed to whisper out, unable to keep the quiver from his voice.

Soft lips pressed to his neck, moving down slowly until they reached the dip between his collar bones. Sherlock's hands clenched into fists, frantically trying to not give in to his instinct to throw the man off.

“Hmm...,” the mouth murmured against his skin, hot breath ghosting over cold skin, “I have a proposition for you, pet. A proposition that can save your beloved doctor if you accept.”

That caught Sherlock's attention and his ears flicked to attention.

“Oh? Go on.”

Fingers mapped his body as they trailed down, bypassing the parts covered by the prison gown. They rested at the top of his thighs, tracing the crease where thighs met hips.

“Plead guilty to Sebastian and Dim's murders...plead guilty, and I'll see to it that John is released on a non-guilty verdict for both the murder and for being an accomplice. He'll get to go back to his normal life as a free man, no criminal record, nothing. And I promise I will leave him alone after that, he can live the rest of his life free from my interference.

Otherwise, I promise you, Sherlock, I will have him jailed. Maybe not on a full murder charge, but at the least as an accomplice. I will ruin him, pet, and when he's in prison, I will burn him to the ground. You know that won't be hard to do for me. How well do you think your doctor will enjoy being the prison's little bitch, hm? How long will he survive that?”

Sherlock's breath hitched. John being free and being able to put all this behind him is everything that matters right now. There was zero doubt in his mind that Moriarty will deliver on his threat if he refuses, and knowing that John will be at the mercy of Moriarty...no, he can't allow that.

“If...I plead guilty to two murders...then I...,” his throat closed and he couldn't finish, although it was clear what he wanted to say.

“Yes, pet. You'd undoubtedly be given the death sentence. But fear not, there are years of waiting between sentence and execution...and I'll be sure to come visit you regularly to keep you company. Your life, for your doctor's...worth it, no? Or has poor John put his trust in the wrong hybrid?”

Hot tears flooded Sherlock's eyes as the decision weighed itself in his mind. His life for John's...the choice is easy enough to make.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, eyes sliding closed as he signed his own death certificate.

“Fine. I'll...I'll plead guilty. Leave John out of it.”

The pressure on him lifted. When he looked again Moriarty was standing beside him, grinning down in satisfaction. The man straightened his uniform and chuckled in delight.

“Excellent. What an obedient pet, I can see why Sebastian enjoyed you so much, and I look forward to finding out what other talents he taught you.”

Squatting down, he grabbed Sherlock's collar and jerked him up into a sitting position. Their mouths clashed painfully and Sherlock yelped in surprise, although the sound was muffled. He felt the slick tongue press into his mouth without hesitation and he almost choked, trying to block out the alien taste. Before he could do anything, the contact broke and Moriarty was wiping his lips as he stood back up.

“See you soon, pet.”

The cell door closed with barely a sound and Sherlock was left alone once more. He stared at the bars, the weight of what he had just agreed do crashing down upon him. Plead guilty, sentenced to be put down, remain forever behind these bars until the day his heart is stopped. He will never feel John's arms around him again. No more soft kisses, loving cuddles, whispered love confessions, or being held in the doctor's protective arms ever again. No more Baker Street, steaming tea, or solving puzzles and beaming at John's praises. It's all over, the game was over and he had lost...but at least he had saved John.

 

* * *

 

_**END CHAPTER 40** _

Um...yay for the new chapter?  Ehehe *Hides behind pillow fort*

Moriarty's a big bully...although I'm the one writing so not sure what that says about me <__<


	41. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bewildered John is released, not knowing what exactly is happening. Sherlock has another difficult decision to make upon receiving an unexpected offer.

John felt his mouth drop open but he couldn't figure out a way to get it shut. He stared past the open cell door to the man standing on the other side, impatiently waiting for him to get out. His eyes blinked rapidly, mind swirling with words and ideas, all too fast for him to grasp onto, and as a result, he couldn't even manage to get a single word out.

“Haven't got all day, mate. Let's get moving.”

The exasperated voice of the waiting guard jolted John from his stupor and he hurried out of the little room he had been caged in for the past few days. The door closed with a thunderous clang behind him, echoing in the hall.

“Wh-what? I don't...this isn't...who...but..how is this...”

Not bothering to acknowledge his stuttering, the guard started walking, clearly expecting John to follow.

“Wait!” Finally, the doctor managed to yell out a coherent command before the other man left him alone.

“Most people are over joyed to find out they've been freed, what's the matter with you?” The taller, burly man stopped his steps and turned, giving John a puzzled and irritated glare.

The doctor ran to catch up, finally realizing that this was actually happening.

“I don't understand! What do you mean I've been cleared of all suspicion? You're just...letting me go? Just like that?”

“Well, it works like this, mate. Someone else pleaded guilty to the murder you were under suspicion for, therefore, following that logic, you cannot be guilty, can you?”

John bristled at the condescending tone, glaring back. Before he retorted back something snappish, a thought suddenly hit him.

“Someone else pleaded guilty? Who? There was only one other person...there...”

The realization smacked him hard and it felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. Only one other person can logically plead guilty and have that plea go uncontested.

“Oh, so you've figured it out on your own, have you? Marvellous. Now let's go, I do have other things to do besides seeing your highness out from his prison cell.”

The guard turned once more with a huff, stomping towards the exit, not pausing to see if John's following. The doctor hurried after, but his mind was jumbled with conflicting thoughts. Sherlock pleaded guilty? Why? When? What in the world? The need to see his hybrid and get his facts straight settled urgently in his chest. Something must have happened between when they first got jailed and now, and John needed to know what.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~**

  
Lestrade was waiting for him as he stepped out of the prison building, sunglasses perched over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The DI walked over with a tired smile, but John had a feeling it didn't reach his eyes.

“Hey. Need a ride?”

John stared at him, confused and bewildered.

“What...the fuck is happening, Greg?”

Lestrade sighed and gestured toward one of the parked cars. As John slid into the passenger seat and clicked his seat belt into place, he turned and looked expectantly at the other man. Lestrade started the car and and pulled out of the parking space, trying to buy himself some time before he had to deal with the many questions John undoubtedly had.

“Well?” The doctor's tone was impatient and slightly irritated.

“Well...congratulations on getting sprung?” The attempt at humour fell flat as neither man had the energy to even smile.

“Greg, tell me what happened! One minute I'm in jail being accused of murder, or at least, an accomplice in TWO murders, and the next thing I know I'm free and allowed to go with a 'Sorry, we made a mistake, someone else pleaded guilty'. God help me Greg if you tell me that Sherlock's the one who...who...,” the sentence died on John's lips, the words refusing to come out.

Lestrade was quiet for a few heartbeats, mouth grim, looking straight ahead at the road, although the sunglasses hid his eyes. With a grimace, he moved the glasses up to rest in his hair as he flicked his eyes to John before turning back to the road.

“He did. To both, Dim and Sebastian. Said he was the only one who did the killing, in Dim's case because the hybrid had been attacking him, and in Sebastian's case because he wanted revenge against an ex-owner.”

“I was THERE, Greg, I KNOW that's not true! How can you let him do that?!”

“I didn't have a say in this, John! He told the guards at his prison, and they contacted Scotland Yard. If it had come directly to me, I might have been able to bring him in discreetly and see what he was up to, but somehow my supervisor got wind of it and now he's pressuring me to just prosecute. He doesn't want this to drag on any further, it's already costed Scotland Yard a LOT of time and man power, not to mention all the damage-control we've had to do.

A hybrid pleading guilty at this point is like...a godsend, John. There's no way my supervisor's going to let this opportunity go unless we have indisputable proof that Sherlock's lying.”

John swallowed the string expletives he wanted to scream, knowing it wouldn't do any good. He sat back in his seat, arms crossed, and glared at the car in front of them. Both men sat in silence as the scenery changed outside. Slowly, they made their way into the city where the surrounding buildings became more familiar.

“Where's Sebastian's body? What did his autopsy reveal?” John asked suddenly.

“Poison, not surprising. Potassium cyanide. He was autopsied at Bart's.”

“And exactly how was Sherlock supposed to have 'forced' him to take it? What story has the media spun for us?”

“Well, I'm no expert on this, but they say a pill of the stuff would be enough to kill him, and Sherlock's proven himself capable of close-range fighting since that's how he killed Dim,” Lestrade heard John's growl and quickly amended his statement, “Sorry, 'supposedly' killed Dim. If he's skilled enough to bring down a polar bear hybrid then it won't be difficult convincing a judge that he forced a pinch of poison down Sebastian's throat.”

John felt like smashing his head against the car's window until it smashed into little tiny pieces, but refrained. He was running out of ideas and now it was looking more and more like Sherlock's never going to be free again.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**~*~*~*~*~**

 

The floor was unforgiving, the coldness stealing away what heat his body had. His legs protested at being so ill treated, but the leash connecting the chain around his neck to the metal ring attached to the floor kept him from standing up. Sherlock twitched as he knelt, sitting back on his heels to take at least a little bit of pressure off his bruised knees. His ears flickered, trying to pick up on any sound that might indicate who he was waiting for, tail tense and taut behind him.

The metal door to the visitation room swung open loudly, the sound ringing in his ears. His gaze flickered towards the open entrance, breath bated with the hope that he'll see a certain doctor come through, although logically he knew it wouldn't be likely. John would have only been released a few days ago. On top of getting himself sorted after this whole ordeal, it's likely he wouldn't want anything to do with Sherlock anymore. Make a clean break from all this unpleasantness, forget it all, get back to his life, that would be the sensible thing to do, yet Sherlock couldn't help the coldness that wrapped itself around his chest every time he thought about John forgetting everything about him.

The solid, confident clicks on the floor told Sherlock exactly who his visitor was long before he actually saw the person. The fur on his ears and tail bristled with hostility as he almost crouched down on the floor like a predatory cat, ready to strike at a prey.

“Hm...this certainly brings back memories.”

Sherlock growled at the tone, trying to tug down his prison gown as much as possible to keep some sense of dignity.

“Dear god, as if I don't have enough to deal with.”

The man sat down in the single chair in the room, crossing his legs and setting his brolly against it.

“Yes, you certainly have been busy recently, haven't you, bro...Sherlock,” Mycroft cleared his throat to hide his almost slip-up.

“What are you doing here? I would have thought coming within a kilometre of a place like this would give you a rash.”

He was answered with a smug smirk as Mycroft shrugged.

“You were a consulting hybrid for Scotland Yard, went undercover for them even. Then got yourself accused of murder thanks to that. Oh, and let's not forget the delicious rumour of your unique relationship with your owner, that was simply the cherry on the cake. Would it really surprise you that there are certain...persons in my line of work that would be interested in you?”

Sherlock instinctively tried to take a step back, feeling his heart drop.

“Interested...how? Send me to some lab to be used in experiments? I am on death row now, no one would care.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, “Oh don't be so tragic, Sherlock. No one's using you as a lab rat.”

“So what ARE you doing here, Mycroft? Stop with all this mysterious government agent crap and get to the point.”

The two brothers stared at each other, one set of eyes challenging while the other gauging.

Finally, Mycroft stood up and walked back to the door. He peered out for a moment, making sure no one was around, then shut it firmly before walk to Sherlock. This time, he knelt down beside his brother so he can be heard without needing to speak loudly.

“I bring a proposition, Sherlock. The choice is entirely yours whether to accept or not.”

A curious eyebrow rose wordlessly, signalling for Mycroft to continue.

“I can help you leave this country, disappear into the crowds, take on a new name and identity and start a new life somewhere else.”

For a few minutes Sherlock wasn't even sure he had heard correctly, so he just blinked. Then his eyes began to widen as he realized he hadn't just hallucinated.

“Wh-what?”

“Sherlock, pay attention for chrissakes. We don't have time for spacing out. We can set it up to look like you died in a prison fight, or maybe a failed prison escape, happens all the time. No one cares if a hybrid prisoner dies, especially one on death row already. That will effectively end your life here. Flying you out afterwards will be easy, and no one will suspect that you're still alive. I can give you the documents for a new identity, perhaps a hybrid whose owner recently passed, and you can get a new owner to live with.”

The mention of an owner made Sherlock frown.

“New owner? I...what about...John?”

The older Holmes' look of disdain was painfully apparent on his face.

“John? Forget him, Sherlock. He can't go with you. Are you mad? I can make you disappear easily, it's not nearly as easy with an actual human. Besides, do you REALLY want to uproot him? Make him leave everything he has here? More than likely we'd have to give him a whole new identity too just so people don't find you through him. Isn't the whole reason why you're doing this so he can go back to his normal life in the first place?”

The words struck Sherlock like a hammer and he visibly shook upon hearing he'd have to leave John behind.

“I...I...but...I can't...”

Mycroft gave an impatient eye roll.

“For goodness sake, Sherlock. If you stay here, you won't see him anyway, unless he comes to visit, and he hasn't yet has he? He might come once, perhaps twice, but eventually he'll forget, Sherlock. If you stay here, you'll die, alone, with no one. No matter how much you care about John, or how much he's told you he cares about you, people's feelings change when things like this happen. That's why I always told you, caring's not an advantage, because people change so easily.”

The logical side of Sherlock screamed at him to accept Mycroft's offer. He wouldn't be able to see John again, but it's not like he can see John here either, and this way at least he'll be alive.

“Can...,” his throat closed and he couldn't breathe for a moment. He wrapped a hand around the chain encircling his neck, clinging to it tightly, “Can I at least see him one more time? P-Please...Mycroft. I need to see him.”

The older man frowned as he considered the request.

“Sherlock, what are you going to say to him? You can't tell him the plan, he'll want to go with you. Even if you refuse, he's capable of trying to find you on his own. It's better for him to just think you're dead. He can grieve and then move on.”

Sherlock let out a bitter laugh. Knowing John, it will hardly be so simple. But Mycroft did have a point. Holding out false hope is far worse than having closure. As painful as it may be at first, John will get over it. The Earth doesn't stop moving with the death of a single life, tomorrow will still come, life goes on, and John has friends to help him through it. He'll be OK, he'll move past Sherlock, close that chapter of his life and start a new one with no messy loose threads.

He nodded, closing his eyes against the tears that wanted to spill out.

“I won't. I won't tell him anything about the plan. Just...let me talk to him.”

 

* * *

_**CHAPTER 41 END** _

I know many of you were wondering where Mycroft was through all of this, and finally he appears!

As for the poison Sebastian took, I honestly know very little about poisons.  I literally Googled for "poisons that can kill people" (yeah...let's hope no one checks my search history) and chose one than can kill quickly in small dosages.  If you want to read up more, go to Wikipedia and search potassium cyanide ^-^

 


	42. The End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to meet John one more time before Mycroft's plan is set into motion.

 

Sherlock tugged at the cuffs of his shirt nervously as he walked, the clothing a welcomed change from the prison gown he had been forced to wear for the past few days. Scotland Yard's hallways seemed ominous now that he's the one to be prosecuted. He saw a few faces he recognized as he walked past, some regarding him with pity, others in surprise, and others still with disgust. He didn't mind any of them, not caring what they thought, focusing on walking forward, placing one foot in front of the other steadily. He's going to see John, he's going to see John, that was all that mattered.

Initially the thought of meeting the doctor in the prison, with him stripped of all dignity almost made him cancel the meeting. Luckily, Lestrade had offered to help, pulling the strings necessary so he could meet John in one of the interrogation rooms of Scotland Yard. The DI had even brought him a change of clothes so he could look somewhat put together for the occasion, although he still had to be led by the leash and his hands were still cuffed.

John was already in the room, sitting at the table silently. He stared hard at the surface, not moving at all. Once every few minutes his face would twitch, although his overall expression was pulled into an frustrated frown. Dark lines under his eyes complemented his haggard look, the poster image of someone who has slept too little and worried too much. He had so many questions to ask, and when Lestrade had contacted him about seeing Sherlock he had jumped at the chance. Ever since he had been released he had searched relentlessly, trying to figure out how to contact Mycroft because he simply didn't know where else to turn. He had wandered about in the streets, glaring at the CCTV cameras as if he could will the man into turning up. Every waking moment was filled with thoughts about Sherlock, wondering if he was OK, if he was being treated well, what was happening, and most of all why had the brunet suddenly pleaded guilty.

His back straightened as he heard the door click open. Steady footsteps entered, followed by a second presence. Lestrade stepped aside to reveal Sherlock behind him before he turned to undo the cuffs and leash. No one said anything, and Sherlock kept his eyes lowered.

“Well...I'll leave you two to it, then. Knock on the door when you're done,” Lestrade told them as he hurried out, wanting to escape the tense atmosphere as quickly as possible.

For a few minutes, neither John nor Sherlock moved after the door closed. Even without Sherlock's deductive skills, John could tell the hybrid had been through quite an ordeal. His clothes didn't fit right, his curls were wild like they had been brushed through in a rush, the fur on his ears and tail had lost its shine, and he had lost enough weight so that his cheekbones were even more prominent than before. John could see the chain that was still around Sherlock's neck peeking out through the collar of his shirt, and he wondered what else his clothing was hiding.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Sherlock could feel John watching him. He tried to think of something to say, but his vocabulary failed him miserably. Not knowing what else to do, he took a deep breath and walked to John's side, sliding down to his knees beside the man's chair. He finally lifted his head to peer up into the sorrowful cobalt eyes that looked back, an overwhelming sense of grief hitting him as he caught John's scent and felt him so close.

“John...John I'm...so, so sorry,” his usually smooth, baritone voice cracked and trembled.

He laid his head down in John's lap, burying his face in the soft jumper so that he can block out everything else. This was the last time he will be seeing the older man and he wanted to remember it, remember his face, his smell, his voice, remember everything about the man he owed so much to.

Warm fingers carded through his hair, getting caught on some of the tangles. They didn't tug, but smoothed the hair out gently, and Sherlock felt them shaking.

“Why did you do it, Sherlock? Please, tell me why? How am I...,” John had to stop as he felt the warmth of tears threatening to fall and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to go away.

“How am I supposed to just...carry on every day, knowing you're still in jail? Knowing you're...you're going to be killed for something you didn't do?”

Sherlock shook his head a bit, careful not to dislodge John's hand.

“John, put it all behind you now...you have your life to live. You're safe, and that's all I wanted,” Sherlock's arms wrap themselves around John's waist tightly, pressing against the warmth, “I know you've already given me so much, John, but...can I ask for one more thing? Just one more...”

John hunched down, as if protect the precious life that's currently snuggling against his stomach. He couldn't stop himself as his mouth kissed the drooping ears, feeling how scratchy the fur is now as compared to before.

“Yes, of course...but I swear, Sherlock, I'm not letting this go. I'm not going to stand by and do nothing.”

Sherlock's mouth twisted into a mirthless smile although it was hidden in John's jumper.

“I want a promise from you. A promise that you'll move on, John. I realize that humans need time to heal after a loss, but please, please don't make me a burden on you,” slowly, he lifted his head, eyes soft and adoring as he drank in the image of John's face, “I love you...so unbelievably much, I want you to be happy, John.”

John's hand cupped Sherlock's face, his thumb brushing over one cheek. With a start, the kneeling hybrid realized a tear had fell and he blinked quickly, not wanting his vision to blur. He felt lips press to his forehead and leaned into the kiss. Purring softly, he let himself revel in John's affections one more time.

“I love you, too, Sherlock.”

 

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER 42 END**

 

 

I can't believe the last time I updated was in November x__X  No excuses, I basically got lazy and this case was weighing on me.  I wanted fluff and hugs and smut and dug myself into this hole of angst that even I didn't want to deal with T__T  But I've figured out a way to work around it!!!  So I hope that'll help push me to at least get the boys out of this.

I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I had it typed up from months ago and was planning to add more, but I just wanted to put something out there now and work on a new chapter.

For those long-term readers, my sincere apologies for the wait, but I AM determined to see this story through!!  Thank you all for sticking with me!!


	43. The Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a plea that goes unheard...or so he thinks. (Trying to summarize without giving too much away OTL)

 

A heavy wind rustled the leaves, causing the grass to flatten. John shivered and burrowed deeper into his coat, dipping his chin down to hide his sensitive throat from the chill. His dull eyes stared straight ahead, flickering over the words on the stone in front of him. He knew the name carved there, had read it countless times, and yet he still couldn't quite convince himself that the name was real. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe it was someone else with the same name? How could it be?

His gloved hands clenched into tight fists at his sides and he jammed them into his coat pockets, trying to stifle the trembling. Sherlock Holmes. HIS Sherlock Holmes. His brilliant, amazing, beautiful Sherlock. He must be somewhere out there, coat tail swirling about behind him, tail lashing about, eyes bright and curious, poking at eyeballs or sniffing over cadavers. Sherlock couldn't be here, it didn't make any sense. How can he be under this ground? This cold, hard, unforgiving ground?

Stepping forward, John pulled the glove off his right hand and placed his palm on the freezing stone. Aside from the name and two dates nothing else was engraved. The other tombstones in the hybrid cemetery sang praises to beloved pets and loving companions, but Sherlock's was bare, John hadn't been able to come up with the words that would describe what Sherlock meant to him.

“You know, Mrs. Hudson has been complaining there's no one to keep her company during the day. And no one to share recipes with. Apparently my cooking is sub par and unworthy. It's really unfair of you to do this to her, she was even ready to relent her biscuits recipe to you.

And...and Molly was saying how they have so many more body parts to dispose of now that you're not taking then home for experiments. Lots of additional paperwork for her, you realize.

Oh, and don't even get me started on Greg. His unsolved cases have piled up so high he says he can't even go home on the weekends anymore. Even Donovan's been roped into doing over time almost every day and trust me, they are not happy.

I keep...I keep trying to keep your coat clean, but all that damn dust in the flat, you know, it just keeps piling on when I'm not looking. You better come home soon if you don't want it to end up smelling like moth balls. So get your skinny arse home, Sherlock. That was clever, using a prison brawl to fake all of this, very clever indeed. But don't you think it's about time to...to...”

John's voice broke and he had to press his fingers against his eyes to stop the tears from falling.

“To come home. Please...come home.”

The doctor straightened, took a deep breath and looked around, almost expecting the hybrid in question to pop up from behind a tree. Instead only the wind answered him and his heart dropped once more. He knew it was ridiculous, Six months and almost everyday he had come here, each time with the same plea. It wasn't healthy he was told over and over again, he had to let go. Sherlock was gone and no matter how much he begged the tall genius wasn't returning. There had been a body, a funeral, he had seen the coffin lowered into the ground.

With a weary sigh, John gathered himself, took a few steps back and with a curt nod at the stone he turned and briskly walked back towards the street. The noise of the city hit him as soon as he exited the cemetery gates, the melancholy mood shattering as reality slammed into him. He'll go back to the empty flat, look at the test tubes and microscope slides he had left untouched on the kitchen table, then sit down at the desk to stare at his laptop screen. Mrs. Hudson might come up around dinner time with a plate of food, telling him she had 'accidentally made too much', and she'll try to tidy up as an excuse to stay around and keep him company. He had contemplated moving out since every corner of the flat reminded him of Sherlock, but he couldn't for the same reason. Moving out meant leaving that behind, leaving his memories of Sherlock, and he couldn't. Not yet, and a part of him feared, not ever.

His feet felt heavy as he headed towards Baker Street, the walk ahead long but he wanted the chance to clear his mind. Inside his pocket he wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's collar, the weight of it comforting even though he had disliked seeing it wrapped around the slender neck. His eyes glanced around him as he walked, vaguely looking at the other pedestrians hurrying about. It was almost dinner time and people were eager to get home. A few hybrids were out with their owners too, but John ducked his head whenever he saw one, the sight of them making his chest feel tight and his throat close up. How was he supposed to overcome this? How do people get past losing someone they love so much? Biologically he understood that dying from a broken heart was impossible, but right now his life ahead seemed pretty bleak. He missed the brunet so much, dreamt about him, sometimes he was sure he heard that deep, soothing voice calling out to him only to be faced with empty space when he turned to look.

Even now, he woke up three or four times a week covered in sweat, the fading images of a bloody, broken Sherlock haunting him as he tried desperately to shake it from his mind. He shouldn't have looked, he knew, but he needed the confirmation. When Lestrade had stepped into the flat and grimly conveyed the news that a prison brawl had broken out in the same place that Sherlock was being held, his blood had frozen with dread. The DI had silently handed him the file documenting the incident along with participants and casualties, cautioning him that the images were graphic but he felt John had a right to choose whether he wanted to see. He hadn't touched the file for a week, letting it sit and gather dust on the coffee table, but finally, finally he couldn't postpone it anymore. If he had any chance of believing Sherlock was truly gone, he had to see proof.

The photos were grainy, stills taken from the security videos that caught the fight breaking out. It had been hard to see clearly but in several he managed to make out Sherlock's curly hair and slender build. The final photos from the coroner confirming the deaths of all the casualties were much more clear. Purpling bruises, deep cuts, broken ribs, his beloved Sherlock lying dead on an examination table waiting for him to claim the body or for disposal.

His screams had been so horrific that Mrs. Hudson had raced up the stairs brandishing a broom thinking he was being attacked. Instead she found him crumpled on the floor, clutching the photos to his chest. Without a word the landlady had turned and walked back the way she came, knowing John wouldn't want anyone to see him in such pain. She'll come back later with some tea and food, but for now she knew to let him be. John had been grief stricken but also angry. How could this happen? Why had he let his lover get involved with the damn police? He could have protected him, he was Sherlock's OWNER dammit. He had full control over the brunet, so how could he have let things get so out of control? Immediately guilt mixed into his sorrow for thinking like that, knowing that Sherlock had been happy to help Scotland Yard, had felt useful, had been overjoyed at the independence he had found. His anger then turned to Scotland Yard itself, railing that they were supposed to protect Sherlock. They were the police goddammit, it was their JOB to protect the innocent and Sherlock was innocent!

His anger had culminated in a flurry of smashed dishes and overturned furniture until he realized he was about to rip apart Sherlock's collar. That had jolted him back, knocking the fury out from him leaving him simply drained and sorrowful. He had slumped down in the mess on the kitchen floor, not caring when broken glass pierced his flesh and stayed there until Mrs. Hudson came up hours later, carefully poking her head in to check if the storm had passed.

In the days that followed he was like a ticking time bomb. Sometimes he wouldn't say a word for hours. Other times he would lash out at whoever was unfortunate enough to be near him with no provocation. He hadn't wanted to plan a funeral because he didn't want to believe Sherlock was dead. He didn't want to see the body, or talk about it, because maybe if he ignored it enough then the slender genius would come clambering back into his life and reveal all of this as a bad dream. In the end Lestrade and Molly had taken up most of the planning, with Mrs. Hudson tasked to keep John at least physically healthy. On the day of the service John had stubbornly refused to go, until Mycroft had showed up, face stern and eyes hard. He had barked at John to get a grip and demanded if the doctor was really OK to let Sherlock go into the ground without at least a goodbye. That image finally convinced John to get dressed and let Mycroft drive him to the funeral, although his jaw was clenched so tight the entire time that he was sure it cracked.

It was a sparsely attended event, even Mycroft didn't attend, simply dropping John off and then leaving. Logically John understood, if the elder Holmes showed up, they'd have to explain to the other guests who he was and what his connection to Sherlock was, but that didn't stop him from resenting the man for not even going to his own brother's funeral. He had almost started a fist fight with the government official in the car when he demanded to know why Mycroft hadn't moved mountains and oceans to save Sherlock, but Mycroft had simply brushed him off telling John he had his reasons. The doctor was tempted to throw a punch into that smug face and was only prevented because they had arrived and he was more or less shoved out of the car.

John's brisk steps faltered a bit as he remembered those dark days. He looked up and realized he had already reached the familiar street where his flat was. Slowing his pace, he eyed the cars passing on the street, watching the people that passed him by. He remembered Sherlock texting him about pigeons and looked up to see a few of them fly around, wings flapping as they landed on roof tops and telephone wires. John felt like his entire life had been turned upside in the relatively short time he had met Sherlock. Everywhere in the city there were reminders. A cafe they had visited, a crime scene on a corner, some restaurant Sherlock had enjoyed, he could barely walk down a street without some memory popping into his mind. It felt excruciating, and yet at the same time he revelled in those memories because they were all he had left.

Opening the door to the flat, John took off his coat and hung it on the hook. He took a deep breath and headed up the stairs, dreading the empty rooms that awaited him. Looks like another night of delivery and crap telly. His hand reached out for the door knob that would let him into the sitting room but froze halfway there. Something was off. There was someone inside. He couldn't quite explain how he knew, but there was something different about the air that alerted him. His attention immediately focused as a rush of adrenaline flooded his system making his heart pound in his chest. No one's come around for weeks except Mrs. Hudson or Greg, and they wouldn't be in his flat alone. Muscles tense, he pressed his shoulder against the door, wrapped his fingers around the door handle and with a quick shove he swung the door open, jumping into the flat ready for an attack.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER 43 END**

 

Two chapters in one day!! :D  Short, but here they are!  More revelations to come in the next chapter!!


	44. The Trip with Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a visit from the elder Holmes where a surprise is revealed.

 

The room was dim and it took John a second for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. On high alert, his gaze flew over the room, checking for any signs of things being out of order. It didn't take long, the reason for his unease was seated in Sherlock's old armchair, one leg crossed over the other as he raised an eyebrow at John's entrance.

“At ease, Dr. Watson. No need to raise your blood pressure unnecessarily.”

John's stance relaxed enough so he wasn't moving so stiffly, but his tense expression changed into one of high disdain.

“Most people wait to be invited in before barging into someone's living quarters.”

His visitor gave him a thin smile.

“I'm a busy man, my schedule leaves little time to be waiting.”

“And yet here you are,” the irritated doctor snapped, marching himself into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, “Waiting around my flat.”

Silence fell over them as he prepared tea, purposely making just one cup. He brought the beverage to his own armchair and sat down with a flourish, crossing his own legs with great show in mockery of the other man.

“I'm not here to deal with another of your hissy fits, John.”

The blond haired doctor bristled, almost baring his teeth at the intruder.

“You need to come with me.”

John laughed mirthlessly and sipped his tea before setting it carefully on the small table beside his chair.

“I don't need to do anything. YOU need to leave. Now.”

The visitor pushed himself up and straightened his meticulously ironed clothing, picking up his brolly that had been leaning against the armchair.

“It's your choice. But this involves Sherlock, and I thought that might be of interest to you.”

Without any further information the elder Holmes headed for the door and stepped out, heels clicking on the stairs as he headed out for the street. John sat frozen in his chair, blinking as he tried to register what he had just heard before he leaped up and raced to follow.

“Wait! Bloody hell, will you wait just a minute?!”

His own footsteps were thunderous as he stormed down, almost tripping on the last step and flying out the front door in his haste. Mycroft was already at the curb, a black car waiting with the back door open. He slid in gracefully not looking at John at all. The doctor charged in after him and slammed the car door closed, glaring at the elder Holmes as he tried to figure out where he should start his questions.

“What about Sherlock? What do you mean? Where are you taking me? Why did you even come? I mean, now that Sherlock's...gone, there's no reason for you to contact me anymore.”

The British government official ignored him and sat back in his seat, face set in practised impassiveness. The car pulled smoothly into the street and drove off.

John kept trying to pry information out of Mycroft to no success. He was met with either silence or soft 'hm's of acknowledgement, nothing more. A few times, a calculating gaze was tossed his way and he swore the enigmatic man looked almost amused at his expense.

It wasn't until he finally calmed down and switched from blasting questions at Mycroft to glaring out the window that he realized they seemed to be going in circles.

“Wait, didn't we pass that shop already? What are you doing? Is your driver lost?”

Mycroft merely gave a nonchalant shrug and pinned John with a patronizing stare.

“Hardly. But if you're quite done with your ranting I will gladly take you to where our destination is waiting.”

John was tempted to tell Mycroft exactly how not done with his ranting he was, but bit back the retort when he realized they'll be doomed to continue this merry-go-round until he at least pretended to have calmed down.

“Stop wasting my time, Mycroft.”

  
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

The car pulled into an underground garage, small and clearly built for only a handful of vehicles. At the moment, however, it was empty. John's eyes made a sweep of the area and immediately located several cameras that trailed after their car as they came to a stop near a metal door. Before they were even fully stopped, the doctor had jumped out, feeling somewhat suffocated in the enclosed space. Mycroft stepped out at a far more leisurely pace, adjusting his waistcoat and tie before clicking his brolly on the ground. A woman opened the door next to their car, giving the elder Holmes a nod. She didn't say anything, and John felt like she didn't even know he was there, but she held the door open as the two men entered, immediately slotting herself in behind Mycroft.

“Has he been behaving?”

“In a way,” the woman answered, whipping out a phone and typing rapidly on it.

“Where are we?” John ventured to ask, although he was fairly certain he'd be ignored.

To his surprise, Mycroft actually stopped and turned to look at him, one haughty eyebrow raised.

“This place doesn't exist. That's all you need to know.”

The shorter man rolled his eyes and gave his abductor an exasperated look.

“Seriously? Weren't you supposed to, I don't know, blindfold me or something in that case?”

A small smirk appeared on Mycroft's face as the woman let out a soft scoff, even though her eyes were still on her phone's screen.

“Nothing so crude is required, John. Without an appropriate escort you wouldn't be able to get anywhere near this place.”

“OK, yeah, whatever. Why are we here? Some top secret agent of yours needs a family doctor? Paper cut from all your filing? Her majesty's corgi get a splinter?”

“Don't be ridiculous. Do you honestly think you have the necessary clearance to attend to her majesty's pets?” Mycroft's smile this time was smug and mocking, and John's hands clenched into tight fists at the thought of slamming his knuckles against the irritating mug.

Before he could make a retort, the woman finished with whatever she was doing on the phone and looked up at Mycroft.

“He's waiting, sir.”

Her voice seemed to jolt the other man from his little game of bait-the-John and he cleared his throat, straightening with a sniff.

“Right. This way then. Come along, John. Someone is eager to meet you.”

The ex-military doctor didn't have time to ponder on who this mysterious someone might be as he found himself rushing to keep up. Damn these people and their gazelle like legs. The corridor they were in was quite bleak and unwelcoming. The floor was solid cement, the walls and ceiling dark and dreary with no windows, an occasional door, and their footsteps echoing through the emptiness was the only sound he could hear. John never considered himself claustrophobic, but right now he was severely disliking the lack of fresh air and open space.

Finally, Mycroft and the woman stopped in front of one of the doors. It looked no different than all the rest, solid metal with bolts along the perimeter. There was no handle, but instead a keypad was provided. A square window sat in the upper centre, and John had little doubt the glass was likely bulletproof. The entire place reeked of secrecy and John scrunched up his nose in distaste. He hated secrets.

The woman stepped forward without a word and punched in several numbers on the keypad. At the loud click that followed, she pushed the door open and walked in, followed by Mycroft and finally, John. Looking around the small room, he noticed a desk on the far side, with a large portrait of Queen Elizabeth hanging behind it.

“And Sherlock said I'm all about 'queen and country',” John muttered under his breath. He ignored Mycroft's frown and leaned back against the now-closed door, crossing his arms as he surveyed the surrounding.

“Well?”

Mycroft and the woman shared a look before she walked to a smaller door located near the desk. It was almost the same colour as the walls and John had barely realized it was an entryway. Her heels clicked sharply as she stepped through and disappeared, leaving the two men in a staring match.

“You realize all this secrecy gets old very fast.”

“Regrettable but necessary.”

“Necessary? For chrissakes, Mycroft, what could you possibly tell me that's worth all this trouble? I'm an invalided army doctor just trying to get through his life in this city, I pay my taxes, follow the law, what more do you want from me?”

Mycroft's mouth twisted as he gave John a knowing look.

“You're involved with my brother, that alone puts you in a position with access to information best left unknown to the general public.”

John huffed and stamped a foot on the floor, pretending to be getting something off his shoe.

“'Was', you mean. I 'was' involved with your brother,” the steely blue eyes suddenly turned tired, tinted with sadness as memories he had kept so desperately at bay breached his barriers, “You could have saved him. If you're indeed as powerful as he said you are, you could have gotten him out of that place before...before...”

He quickly swiped a hand over his face, determined not crack. Not here.

“John, you need to realize that some things we do out of necessity of the circumstances. The less people that know, the better. Better for themselves and better for others involved,” Mycroft's patronizing tone only served to ruffle John more and he glared at the man, “In this case, however, I believe it's time that the truth is revealed to you.”

The door that the woman from earlier had walked out of opened again and for a moment nothing else happened. Finally, a mop of curls surrounding a pair of silky ears emerged from the dark room on the other side, hiding the eyes of the person they belonged to.

John's throat made a strangled noise as his back snapped ramrod straight, his entire body tense and eyes so wide he felt like his eyeballs might fall out. He couldn't breathe, or maybe he was too scared to breathe, afraid that any disturbance would cause what's happening to disappear and reveal it all to be a dream.

The triangular ears twitched and the man lifted his head. He was biting on his lower lip nervously as his eyes flicked between Mycroft and John. His long legs took him few steps forward until he had stepped past the desk and stood just a bit out of reach from John. His tail wrapped around the slender waist and his hands clutched at the tip, fidgeting with the fur as he licked his lips and tried to smile.

“John. I-I...that is to say...I mean...I suppose..n-not dead?”

That voice, that familiar, deep voice seemed to vibrate through John as he stood, shaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch, make sure this was real, but his body wouldn't move. It couldn't be possible, he had seen the pictures, hell he had seen the damn body! Was this some kind of visual trick? Or perhaps a clone? But those eyes, a clone couldn't hold the same memories as the original, could it? A clone wouldn't have a reason to be so tentative, so nervous, almost scared. This had to be Sherlock...HIS Sherlock, the Sherlock he had held and loved and thought he had lost. But it couldn't be!

With a growl, John turned to the only man in the room who seemed to have all the answers and lunged forward, grabbing Mycroft by the lapels and slamming him back into the wall. For his part, the elder Holmes seemed to have anticipated some sort of violent reaction and braced his feet, reducing the impact, although he still wheezed at the sudden pressure against his lungs.

“What. The. Bloody. Hell.”

John's voice was pure venom as he pressed in close, glaring into nonchalant eyes. He was tempted to slam that head into the wall again and again but he wanted answers before he beat the arsehole into a bloody pulp.

“Mycroft Holmes, what kind of fucking game are you playing?! Do you get off on this? Messing around with people's lives? Is this how you get your kicks? What is this?! How is it possible?! Answer me!!”

The questions echoed in the room, the booming voice loud and thunderous. Mycroft remained tight lipped and gave John a most condescending stare.

“John, it wasn't..”

Sherlock's voice began, only to be stopped when his brother held up a hand for silence. John only growled lower. He leaned his weight in and gave Mycroft one last squeeze before he yanked his hands away, stomping back a few steps. He could feel Sherlock's presence behind him, but he didn't dare to turn and look, not yet, not if he didn't want to break down before he got his answers.

“Anthea, give Dr. Watson the file, please,” Mycroft's voice was only slightly gruff as he straightened himself, making his way to the desk and leaning back against it.

The woman, Anthea, had re-entered the room following Sherlock. She took a few quick steps forward and held out a file folder for the doctor, looking bored. John bit back the temptation to grab the papers and throw them against the wall, instead forcing himself to open the file and actually inspect the documents inside. Some photos, mostly of Sherlock, some of himself, documents certifying the brunet's death, detailing funeral arrangements, all looking official and legitimate. Some of it meant little to John, lists of names, with various abbreviations next to them.

He shakily pulled out a photo of himself at Sherlock's grave, alone, one hand settled on the cold tombstone as he stared forlornly at the name on the front.

“John...I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, so many times, but...but we didn't know if I'd be able to come back to London. I didn't want to give you false hope, John, please...you understand, yes?”

Sherlock's shaking voice brought the older man back to the present and he finally turned his gaze back on to the one who had made him fall so hard. His vision immediately blurred as he saw that familiar face once more, relief, joy, sadness, confusion, and anger all fighting for a place in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Sherlock stepped forward and held out a hand, not quite touching, but clearly wanting to.

“I'm sorry, John, I never meant to hurt you, I didn't know what else to do. P-please...if..if you never want to see me again after this, I...I'll understand, but please, at least let me explain?”

John choked on a bitter laugh. 'Never want to see him'? Did Sherlock have any idea how much he had dreamed, wailed, begged, pleaded with the heavens and a God he didn't even believe in for the chance to hold Sherlock in his arms even just one more time? Did he have any idea how often he tried to remember every second of their time spent together? The first time they met, Sherlock scared and nervous. Their first cafe trip, Sherlock trying sweets for the first time. The brilliance of the genius mind as he rattled of deductions to Scotland Yard, the growing trust that Sherlock had placed in him, the smiles that came easier and easier, every moment John had tried to remember and lock away.

His hand dropped the file and he reached out, his feet stumbling as he lurched forward. Sherlock caught him on instinct before he fell and with the momentum John wrapped his arm around the slender neck, pulling him in tightly. John's body fit perfectly into Sherlock's arms and he shuddered when he felt the long limbs wrapping around his back, holding him steady.

He hid his face against Sherlock's neck, breathing in the scent he had missed so much as he finally allowed himself to believe. Sherlock Holmes was here. He was alive, real, breathing, his heart was still beating, and now he was back in John's arms where the doctor had no intention to let him go again.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 44 END** _

 

Ta-daaaaa~

I couldn't have John react as violently as he did in TEH because of Sherlock's history with violence, so I had him take it out on Mycroft instead.  

I'm hoping to wrap this case up in the next chapter, at most the next two chapters so we can get back to more fluff and smut *-*  Boys are going to need some MAJOR making up sex after this one.

 

Thanks again to everyone who's continuing to read and support this story!!  Love you all~!!


	45. The Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock have a lot of explaining to do...a LOT.
> 
> (Warning, this chapter was tedious to write, and I suspect not that thrilling to read. It wraps up the case, but in possibly the most dull way possible.)

 

Silence.

Gazes filled with unspoken words flickered back and forth between the occupants of the room, but no sound was made. A chair squeaked, a throat was cleared, nails clicked on the desk, and clothing rustled. Still the silence persisted.

There was so much to say that it seemed overwhelming. Where to start? Who should start?

Emotions ran high in jumbled tangles. A potential minefield for explosive reactions if a wrong thread was plucked.

John tapped his foot on the floor, leaning back in his cushioned chair. Beside him, Sherlock sat in the twin to his seat, their hands interlocking over the armrests. The tall brunet was much more still than his owner, only his eyes and ears flicking about. The older man's focus, however, wasn't on his newly recovered lover, but instead on the man seated across from them behind the desk. Mycroft met his steely stare with ease, his own expression passive, posture relaxed. Anthea sat to the side, slightly behind her boss, busying herself once more on her phone and paying little attention to the scene in front of her.

On the desk laid the folder containing all the secrets that had been kept from John, now open, the contents laid out.

Finally, Mycroft sighed and rubbed his temple, reaching forward to pick up a photo from the desk to examine it. John twitched.

“Dr. Watson, as much as I have apologized for the necessity of keeping the details this particular operation hidden from you, you must realize that it was an imperative. You had to believe that Sherlock was dead, along with the rest of the general population, in order for me to successfully transport him out of the country. Even a hint to the otherwise would have been disastrous.”

“Disastrous for you, you mean,” the doctor sniped.

“Well, yes, if they did in deed link it to myself. However not only for me. If the authorities found out that a death row inmate had escaped, they would no doubt investigate. Wherever Sherlock ended up, they could request extradition and then we'd be right back where we started. If he was recorded as dead, however, no further investigations would have been needed. He wouldn't exist anymore, and Sherlock could start a new life elsewhere.”

John's jaw was clenched so tight he could almost hear the bones grinding together. Sherlock starting a new life, without him, the very thought made his chest tighten.

“John...I didn't want to,” the soft voice beside him turned his attention, “But it was the best option. If I stayed, the only result would have been the death sentence, I would have ended up dead anyway. It would have been a slow process, I'd be in prison for years, and...and I didn't want you having that...that loose end always trailing you about. If I just died, then it would have ended everything. You could move on with your life. It was better.”

Logically, what was being explained to him made sense, but John was stubbornly refusing to accept it.

“Better? Better,” the harsh bark of laughter made Sherlock grimace as his ears dropped down against his head, “Yeah, it felt a lot better standing in front of your grave, thinking you were rotting away under the ground. That was really great.”

Slim fingers tightened around his hand as guilty eyes lowered, a red flush creeping up over the high cheekbones.

Mycroft's eyes jumped between owner and hybrid, his own deductions flying in his mind.

Sherlock was trying to explain to John the reason for their plan and how it would have benefited John, but clearly, the ex-soldier was not having it. Time to change tactics.

“Obviously we realized it would be hard for you, the passing of a loved one is never easy on anyone. However, you do realize it was the only way to keep Sherlock alive in the long run? Smuggling a supposedly dead hybrid out of the country isn't difficult, all he needed was a new identity. Tell me John, would you have willingly stayed away if you had known?” Mycroft asked with raise of an eyebrow.

“No, of course not! But I could have moved to be with him! I can find a new job, people do it all the time!”

“And then what? Keep him hidden for the rest of his life? Without you around, Sherlock could start with a clean slate. No ties from the past, no risk of being exposed. If you started living with Sherlock you bring with you all of the baggage from London. Your friends and acquaintances here, what if they started asking why you suddenly uprooted and moved to a whole new country? What if a reporter started digging?

As a human, your past follows you John. Your connection to Sherlock would be in your records wherever you go and all it would take to break the cover is one person, just one, who can link his face to his name. Or are you telling me that you would put Sherlock's life in danger just so you can selfishly stay at his side?”

“Mycroft!!” The younger Holmes snapped at his brother with clear admonishment and slight shock at how blunt he was being.

But Mycroft's diversion seemed to work as John just stared, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He had thought that being with Sherlock was all that mattered. In his mind, wherever they ended up, as long as they were together they can face whatever problems that came their way. The barbed accusation that what he yearned for might have endangered the other's well being was like a bucket of ice water being poured over him, jolting him to new realizations. He turned and ran his eyes slowly over Sherlock's face, wanting to ask, but afraid of the answer.

“Is...is that true? Would my being with you really have...have put you in danger?”

Sherlock sighed and slumped back in his chair, “It..would have made things more difficult...somewhat. Humans are easier to track. Hybrids are often smuggled, trafficked, new identities are easily attained and many disappear without much paper trail. Even owners often have difficulty finding hybrids that are kidnapped, they simply vanish.”

John took a deep breath and put a pin in his anger at being left out of the plan. Perhaps there were valid reasons for the Holmes' brothers' decision, but that didn't make his own suffering easier to accept. Six months he had mourned, he didn't even grieve as much when he had been sent packing from the military, believing his life to have been over. But if their plan had been for Sherlock to disappear, that begged new questions he needed answering.

“OK, fine, let's assume for a moment that that plan was the best choice. Then shouldn't you be in some other country by now? Why are you still here in London? And why are you revealing all of this to me now?”

As if on cue, Anthea pulled out a new folder she had been holding, handing it to Mycroft.

“Yes, well, trust sentiment to put up roadblocks in well laid plans,” the British government official sneered with distaste, throwing an exasperated look at his younger sibling, “He was supposed to leave immediately following his extraction from prison, but he insisted on staying long enough to ensure that you would be all right. Or at least, confirm that you weren't planning on doing anything drastic as a result. We had actually set his date of departure for next week, however some new developments have turned up regarding the murder accusations against him.”

John leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his seat fully intrigued. New developments? That sounded promising.

“Well I hardly think it could be worse than before, so I'm assuming these new developments are good.”

A small smile flicked over Mycroft's face as he handed over the folder to John, “Quite right. Take a look at that.”

Eagerly, the doctor opened the beige file and pulled out a stack of papers. He quickly skimmed through the documents, flipping through a few photos of someone he didn't know. Even though John had seen his fair share of injuries, the ones this man sustained still made him flinch. The victim had obviously been the victim of a thorough beating, his face was swollen, with bruises and cuts all over. Deep gouges in his cheeks, bruises over more bruises, the flesh was almost in shreds, making it almost impossible to recognized the person.

The doctor in John immediately started cataloguing what he could see, although bandages hid much of the body in some of the photos. A quick scan over the injuries revealed several broken bones, a broken jaw and nose, and the nerves of one of his hands was so severely damaged it would likely never regain full movement again. But what struck John as most peculiar was the fact that whoever did this seemed to pay most attention to the victim's fingers. Several fingers were chemically burned while several of his fingers were missing, cut off with a sharp instrument at the knuckle.

“Who is this?”

“John, meet Mr. Simon Bayers. Our missing coroner.”

For a moment the doctor could only blink as his mind ran a blank. Bayers? Coroner? The wheels in his brain raced to make connections, trying to figure out why both Mycroft and Sherlock were looking at him as if this was the greatest discovery since electricity.

In a sudden flash, his brain latched onto the connection. Simon Bayers, coroner to Dim, the one who had doctored the autopsy report stating that the hybrid had died due to his fight injuries as opposed to a bullet wound and then who promptly went missing.

“THIS is Simon Bayers??! Where is he?! What happened?! Have you talked to him?! Why isn't he here?! Oh god, tell me he's not dead!” John's rapid fire questions bounced off the walls before he could stop himself, his hearth pounding.

“We actually just found him recently, well, Mycroft did. Remember when I told you he had bought tickets for the US and Canada? He was found in a small roadside motel, the police claims he was on his way to New York but didn't make it. Their report claims it was a robbery gone wrong.”

“Robbery? It looks more like torture,” John frowned, studying the photos once more now that he could put a name to the person.

“We think whoever did this was trying to hide his identity, hence why they made fingerprinting impossible, and the damage to his jaw made dental records difficult too. They took all his identification, even the car he had rented, so he was basically a John Doe when the police took him to the hospital. Also, since it was his first time out of the UK, they banked on the low probability that anyone in the States would recognize him, even if the police did attempt to look for friends or relatives to identify him. Most likely it was supposed to be a hit job, but he's miraculously alive,” Sherlock informed the doctor.

“He's alive? Well have you questioned him?” John immediately turned to Mycroft, “Has he confessed to tampering with the autopsy?”

“He is alive, and we have him here in London under twenty four hour security surveillance. Unfortunately he's been comatose for this entire time and the doctors weren't sure if he would ever actually regain consciousness.”

The blond haired man let out an aggravated sigh, scowling, “Oh...well that's no help then.”

“Fortunately, he woke up a week ago,” for once Mycroft's smug smile didn't make John want to punch him, instead he felt like leaping over the desk and grabbing the man in a hug.

“...And?! For chrissakes Mycroft, stop stalling!”

“In return for witness protection, Bayers has confessed that he did indeed take a bribe from a businessman whom we believe to be a close confidante of Moriarty's. He admitted to changing the autopsy on Dim and also authorized a cremation in order to avoid exhumation. We're looking into the person who was sent to bribe Bayers now, but more importantly with that testimony we can exonerate Sherlock from being the cause of Dim's death.”

John's smile could have lit up an entire stadium as he turned to Sherlock. The brunet blushed but smiled back, eyes sparkling with hope for the first time in months. He mewled in surprise as John grabbed him in a tight hug, laughing with relief. The feeling was contagious and soon Sherlock had to press his face against John's neck, trying to suppress his own mirth and retain some of his dignity in front of his brother.

“Wait, John, there's more. We have more to tell you,” the younger Holmes settled them back into their seats, nodding to his brother.

Anthea produced another folder, this time holding it out directly for John to take.

“Regarding Sebastian Wilkes,” Mycroft interlinked his fingers on the desk, gesturing towards the papers in John's hand, “I have to admit luck appeared in our favour.”

Sherlock made a soft scoffing sound and rolled his eyes, although he kept quiet.

“He was scheduled for a cremation too, without an autopsy since it had already been determined to be a murder by poison, and with Sherlock behind bars there didn't appear to be the need for a full autopsy.

Fortunately, the person responsible for seeing to the disposal of the body was a Ms. Molly Hooper, I believe you know her? At DI Lestrade's request, she conducted a secret autopsy before cremating the body.”

Mycroft paused in his explanation and reached down into his desk. He pulled out a small, transparent jar and held it up for John to see. Inside was what appeared to be the remains of a molar tooth along with some small bits of rubber and thin shards of glass.

John raised an eyebrow as the puzzle pieces started clicking into place. He really didn't think such a method of death was possible, maybe in spy movies, but apparently he had been mistaken.

“Sebastian used a technique employed by British and American secret service agents during World War Two. He stored a capsule of potassium cyanide in a false tooth. The poison was contained in a small glass ampoule, with a rubber covering used to prevent accidental breakage. When he bit down hard enough, the glass broke, releasing the poison.

The evidence was easy enough to find, but clearly he hadn't anticipated that someone would actually conduct an autopsy on him. Ms. Hooper was thoughtful enough to retrieve this evidence for us before the body was dealt with.”

“Wouldn't that put her on Moriarty's hit list?”

“Officially the autopsy was done by one of my undercover agents, Ms. Hooper's name doesn't appear anywhere near the report. After Ms. Hooper made her discovery, I had DI Lestrade make an official request for an autopsy citing the high publicity of the case as the reason. I assure you Ms. Hooper is quite safe, but just to be sure, I do intend to have security on her for the next few months.”

John's mind tried to untangle itself and organize the information he's being fed. With Sherlock cleared of any involvement in Dim and Sebastian's death, that meant...

“...It's over...? This...all of this...Sherlock...Sherlock can come home?”

He felt a warm hand settle over his own and beautiful blue-green eyes peering at him. The fluffy tail swished about happily as a happy, relieved smile crossed luscious lips.

“I can come home,” the silky voice confirmed.

Mycroft seemed to take that as his cue and pushed himself up out of his chair. He cleaned up some of the papers on his desk and nodded towards the other two men in the room.

“Personally I would have preferred keeping this quiet for a while longer, but he insisted on revealing this to you as quickly as possible. My car will take you back to Baker Street, but until I can smooth things out with the courts and the police I recommend Sherlock stay away from public places.

Sherlock's death at the prison will be considered a case of misinformation, a mistaken identity perhaps, and with the amount of violence that occurs in that place I doubt it will be a difficult sell. I will, however, need to obtain an official release for him, stating he has been found innocent of all charges and released. Please refrain from contacting anyone before then, Sherlock, behave yourself for once.”

Following Mycroft's example, the other three people also stood. John and Sherlock shared an excited smile at the prospect of going home. Finally, after months of agony, they can finally go home, and this time without a ticking clock counting down their days together.

The shorter man felt tears gather as he stretched up, ruffling the dark curls he had missed so much as Sherlock mewled and leaned down to nuzzle against the side of his neck. Sensitive ears twitched as soft lips pressed a kiss against them, chuckling as they flicked about.

“Let's go home, love.”

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 45 END** _

 

That...had to be the most boring chapter I've written OTL  All talking, no action, no fluff, just Mycroft blabbing away @__@  I realize this is kind of an anti-climactic ending to this case; no chases, no guns, no killing, no fighting, they just solve everything while sitting in Myc's underground bunker, but I just really wanted it all over with.

BUT AT LEAST THIS CASE IS OVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Hallelujah!!  I resolve never to write complex casefics ever, ever, EVER again.

And now, back to FLUUUUUUUUUUUFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF :D 


	46. The Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was barely through the door of their flat before he found his arms full of a squirming Sherlock...
> 
> (SMUT WARNING!!)

 

John was barely through the door of their flat before he found his arms full of a squirming Sherlock. He laughed as ticklish licks were lavished on his neck, making him shiver and try to scuttle away. His lover wasn't having any of that, trapping the doctor in long arms to prevent him from escaping as Sherlock enthusiastically covered John's neck in kittenish swipes of his tongue, adding a few nips to the mix.

“Sherlock, wait, wait! Let me get my jacket off at least.”

His only response was a high pitched whine as the taller man bullied him back towards the sofa.

“I've missed you, John, missed you so much. I even tried to sneak out to come and see you, but Mycroft kept catching me.”

The older man felt the back of his knees hit the sofa and he sat down, pulling Sherlock with him.

“I missed you too, love. I didn't want to believe you were...you know, but everyone kept telling me I had to accept it. Everywhere I went, it all reminded me of you.”

Sherlock straddled his thighs, keeping their chests pressed together. His licks had turned into soft kisses, raining against John's skin, trailing from his neck up until he was littering them around the edges of the shorter man's mouth. His hands immediately started trying to de-clothe John, tugging at his jumper and trying to take it off without moving away.

“Slow down, Sherlock, we-we should talk first.”

That earned John a low growl as exasperated eyes glared up at him.

“Talk? I thought we got all the talking out of the way already.”

With as much will power as he could manage, John wrapped his hands around Sherlock's to slow down his eagerness. His eyes were soft, tinged with worry as he rubbed his thumbs over prominent sharp knuckles. As happy as he was to have Sherlock back, the doctor side of him couldn't help noting that the already slender hybrid seemed much more so now. His clothes hanged off his frame loosely, his belt was pulled up as tight as it can go, and John was afraid of what he would find if he looked under the shirt.

“Not about the case. I only saw you once while you were imprisoned, Sherlock, it's been months since I've seen you. Did...did anything else happen? Are you...,” John tried to find a word to describe what he wanted to ask, coming up blank, “I mean, did anyone...”

“...Hurt me?” Sherlock finished for him, “John, contrary to what you may believe, I am capable of surviving on my own. You realize I've been doing that for over thirty years before I met you.”

The short haired man huffed, “Yes, I know, but surviving is not the same as being OK. Everyone hears stories about what happens in those hybrid prisons, did anyone try to...t-touch you?”

“No,” the answer came quick and sure, so quick that it took John a moment to realize Sherlock had responded. His brows furrowed as he gave Sherlock a suspicious look, not saying anything else until the brunet started squirming again.

“O-ok...one of the guards tried. But he didn't get anywhere. Mycroft and I initiated the plan before he had a chance. After that I was under Mycroft's custody. Honestly, John, nothing happened, I'm really OK.”

The slim tail rubbed against John's hand as if to reassure him, wide eyes blinking with hopefulness. John was no match against Sherlock in full persuasion mode and he relented with a sigh, leaning forward to press his lips against the tempting mouth.

“Christ, Sherlock...that look of yours should be a national weapon. I can't imagine anyone denying you anything with that expression.”

A smug smile was his answer as soft curls snuggled up under his chin. Sherlock freed his hands and continued his work of getting John's clothes off, his ears and tail twitching with anticipation.

“You've lost weight...,” the deep voice murmured as he finally managed to get John's upper half fully exposed. He traced his finger up along one of the collar bones, dipping his head to lap at the little groove between the two.

“That makes two of us. Your cheekbones really might jab one of my eyes now,” John scolded, his fingers working quickly at Sherlock's shirt buttons, “We should really eat something before anything else.”

Sherlock answered him by pressing his own hips down suddenly, grinding their growing erections together. Even through their trousers the stimulation sent a jolt through both bodies making them shudder and moan at the same time as the action was repeated.

“No...this first...then food,” the pouting hybrid grumbled as he latched his lips to the side of John's neck and started working on inflicting a nice love bite to the smooth skin.

John grinned and let himself slide sideways, lying down length wise on the sofa and pulling Sherlock fully on top. They adjusted on the narrow space available, ending up with one of John's legs hanging off the edge, the other bent and leaning against the back of the sofa. The open 'V' between his legs left just enough room for Sherlock to settle himself in.

The excitement that thrummed through their bodies made both parties impatient. Fumbling fingers grappled with uncooperative zippers, tugging and pulling at trousers and pants. Through the messy kisses and grunts of surprise when an elbow jammed into a rib or a finger dug into flesh, they somehow managed to toss their remaining clothing onto the floor with a sigh of relief.

Before Sherlock could settle back over John, the doctor motioned in the direction of the kitchen, “Lube. In the loo, under the sink.”

Tail swishing, the brunet dashed off to retrieve the item, almost crashing into the corner as he tried to round through the doorway without slowing down. John chuckled as he half sat up to watch, palming himself for a few strokes as he waited.

Sherlock came bounding back within seconds, the triumph in his eyes making his partner laugh out loud. He leaped into the air at the foot of the sofa and landed right over John with immaculate aim, his tail thrashing hard. Just as he was about to press the bottle into older man's hand John stopped him, pulling his head down to kiss his forehead gently.

“I want to feel you inside me, Sherlock, is that OK? Want to feel you when you come inside.”

The words immediately caused the usually pale face to redden as ears flattened against inky curls. A bolt of lust struck through him, making him shudder as his tail froze.

“Sherlock? Do you not want to?” John asked with concern as his lover suddenly tensed all over, “It's OK if you don't, love. We can do it the other way too.”

The worry lacing his voice made Sherlock shake his head and he relaxed a bit, taking a deep breath.

“No, it's...it's not that...I just...,” the words faltered as the usually brilliant mind failed to come up with an adequate way to explain himself. John taking him was...normal. Regardless of how many times the doctor assured him that sex was not a power play, he couldn't stop thinking of it as such. A dominant partner and a submissive partner, that was always what he had believed, except with John the dominant partner didn't enjoy inflicting pain on the submissive, and put an emphasis on ensuring both parties enjoyed the experience.

Sherlock taking John, however, it always made him slightly nervous, afraid he would do it 'wrong'. Even though it was something they had done a few times, he still couldn't quite believe the amount of trust John must have in him to put himself willingly into the 'submissive' position, a position Sherlock had come to associate with weakness and vulnerability.

John always talked him through it, layering praise upon reassurances the entire time, and Sherlock did so enjoy having his doctor trembling and gasping in his arms, pleading for more. It sent a flare of possessiveness through him that he never possessed before towards anyone or anything, only John. The strange desire to protect and mark had caused him to leave more than a few teeth prints on John before, in the midst of their love making, and although he had been horrified the short haired man had always seemed more amused than anything else. He didn't know where it came from, but it always surfaced when he was given full access to John's body.

“You just what, love?” the soft question drew Sherlock back into the present and he found himself staring into dark, navy eyes, so deep they seemed fully black.

“I just thought...I thought I would never get to see you again...talk to you, let alone touch you like this. Do you remember back when I asked you about feeling scared because of too much happiness? I feel like...this can't possibly be real, like something else is going to happen and take you away again... . It won't John, will it? You're not going away, are you? Please... .”

Tears welled up as Sherlock begged and John quickly framed his hands around his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips brushed lightly together, the contact keeping Sherlock grounded in the reality that yes, John is here.

“Shh...I'm not going away, I'm not going anywhere. Besides, wasn't it you who was going to leave me behind to go exploring?” The doctor slipped in a hint of teasing to his tone, trying to ease Sherlock's worries, “I'm right here. All yours, just like before. Nothing's going to happen, you're safe now, love.”

Sherlock mewled with a sudden sense of desperation as he rutted against John, instincts beginning to surface. Yes, John was here, and all his. He wanted he needed, he must make sure John wasn't going to disappear from his grasp. No one can take John away, he had to make his mark so that no one else would attempt to claim his doctor.

Sharp teeth nipped at John's lips as Sherlock tried to open the lube bottle without looking. He made a sticky messy of the viscous liquid as too much of it got onto his fingers before he set the bottle down beside the sofa. John shivered at the cool touch as fingers suddenly wrapped around his throbbing cock, swirling around the tip before sliding down to cup his balls. They were pulled up against his body already, but Sherlock teased them down to give them a few firm tugs.

John arched up as his arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck, pressing their mouths more firmly together. The kiss deepened and the doctor's mouth was invaded by an eager, rough, adventurous tongue, rubbing and licking all over.

Slippery fingers slid down and finally settled over the puckered opening, feeling the muscles twitch every time he swiped his tongue against John's.

“P-please...Sherlock...please...,” John broke the kiss with a gasp only to beg, his legs falling open wider in invitation.

Sherlock's heart thumped loudly. It astounded him that the man was so open with voicing his wants. In the past, his owner had always forced him to beg, a way of humiliating him and to show him how powerless he was having to ask for pain to be inflicted on himself. But here was John openly pleading without any hesitation. He swallowed as his throat suddenly seemed to tighten, realizing John was asking him for something only he can give. Out of all the people and hybrids, John had chosen him, willingly. If someone as amazing as John had chosen him then there must be something in his being that is of worth. Pride rippled through Sherlock as he presses a finger inside the waiting heat, going slow but keeping the pressure steady.

The effect on John was instant as his mouth opened, gulping in a gasp of air. One hand slid along Sherlock's spine, feeling over the rise and fall of muscles before he rested his fingers around the base of the powerful tail. The grip John used was gentle, but firm, and with a few small tugs he had Sherlock growling as his hips stuttered, his nerves tingling from the stimulation.

A second finger joined the first as if in retaliation for John's little stunt, the muscles clenching around the digits before forcefully relaxing. Sherlock squirmed out of John's grasp and scuttled back until his face was hovering over the the other man's erection. John barely had time to lift his head in an attempt to see what his lover was up to before he felt wet heat envelope him just as the fingers inside curled and brushed over his prostate. He jerked and bucked with a yelp at the double attack, hands flying down to grab at Sherlock's curls without thinking. For a few seconds he all his senses were rendered useless. His thoughts were dashed, his eyes couldn't see, all his body knew was that it wanted more.

Sherlock pressed his free hand on John's hip to steady him as he worked his mouth around the engorged penis. He thrusted his fingers in and out of the welcoming body, coaxing the opening to loosen. It wasn't until he felt that John was on the edge of orgasm that he finally pulled his head back. His eyes flicked upwards along the prone body beneath him, watching the chest rise and fall rapidly as he inserted a third finger.

John hissed at the stretch but he kept himself still. His hands brushed through the messy curls before cupping the back of Sherlock's head and urging him up.

“Sherlock...ready...please...s-so ready... .”

Sensitive ears twitched as the cat-like tongue gave one last swipe to John's cock. Sherlock sat up and pulled his fingers out, using one hand to cradle John's thigh, keeping his legs pushed apart. He lined himself up to the loosened ring of muscles and peered down to find John watching him, eyes dazed but with a dopey grin on his face. There was so much adoration in the expression that Sherlock would have blushed if his face wasn't already so red from their activities.

Teasingly, Sherlock pressed the tip of his own penis to John's body, giving it just enough push to stretch the muscles, but not enter completely. John keened and his head fell back into the cushions. Unsteady hands hurriedly reached down, hooking under his own knees as the doctor pulled his legs wide open, offering himself up for Sherlock to take.

“Sherlock, please...god, I can't wait anymore, it's been so long.”

The utter need in John's voice finally broke down Sherlock's control and he pressed his hips forward. His cock disappeared inside slowly and he couldn't suppress the full body trembling that overcame him, soft whimpers falling from his mouth at how delicious it felt.

It wasn't long before the two men were rocking back and forth on the sofa, gasping between whimpers and exclamations for more. At some point, John had wrapped his legs around the slim hips, aiding Sherlock with every thrust forward. Their mouths met in inarticulate kisses, tongues clashing in a frenzy. The slow build had drained both of their patience and they tumbled towards a climax they both yearned and yet desired to delay. John kept trying to gain the upper hand by distracting Sherlock with soft nips, his devious fingers toying with sensitive nipples and rubbing at the fluffy tail. Every time the brunet would lose his rhythm, growling in frustration as his orgasm was kept just out of reach by John's plotting as the doctor just chuckled breathlessly.

Finally, in a fit of desperation, Sherlock grabbed John's wrists and pinned the doctor's hands besides his head. He didn't even realize what he was doing, but the older sucked in a sharp intake of breath at the distinct show of power, his cock twitching at the uncharacteristic display. Before the brunet could even react, John tightened his legs and plunged Sherlock deep inside himself with a heady moan.

“Yes! Ooh, god, Sherlock, like that...yess... .”

Unable to deny such a sensuous request, Sherlock redoubled his efforts, his grip on John's wrists tightening as his hips snapped forward again and again, each time harder than before as his confidence built from John's encouraging reactions.

John's body shook uncontrollably as he was rammed over the edge without mercy. His hands fisted as he cried out his lover's name, blinding heat thundering through his blood as everything seemed to explode.

Logically, Sherlock knew he should slow down since John's body would be overly sensitive after orgasm, but he couldn't stop. He was so close, just a bit more. Dropping his head, he slammed his hips forward, the force so powerful that it physically shoved John up on the sofa. His ears were pressed flat to his head with effort as his entire body tensed before his body finally gave in to the call of blissful orgasm.

John was barely aware of his surroundings as he tried to recover, but he regained enough sense just in time to witness Sherlock's fall. The full lips opened in a throat growl as every muscle contracted. For a few seconds the graceful body seemed frozen, but the doctor felt the stream of warm liquid flooding him inside. He tried to reach a hand up to touch the beautiful face he loved, but the grip on him was firm so he resigned himself to stay put, at least for now.

They collapsed in a tired heap, their harsh breathing the only sound to infiltrate the flat for several minutes. John was sandwiched between Sherlock and the sofa, with his own semen smearing between their bodies. He made an attempt to shift a bit, but his lover whined at being jostled so with a soft chuckle the doctor resettled in his spot.

Sherlock's face was jammed between John's head and the back of the sofa, it was awkward and cramped. He turned his face to the side only to be confronted with sweat-damp blond hair. He mewled and nuzzled at it, enjoying the feeling of having John's shorter frame entirely enveloped under himself.

Neither of them made to move as they floated on the afterglow, reality seeming far away. For the first time in months, the pair felt a sense of peace that neither thought they would never find again.

 

* * *

 

_**CHAPTER 46 END** _

 

=^O^=  Some top cat!lock because I know a lot of you enjoy it <3

 


End file.
